


Charlie-Boy things

by valiidpunkman



Category: It’s Always Sunny In Philadelphia
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Blood, Body Dysphoria, Canon-Typical Behavior, Coming Out, First Kiss, Fluff and Humor, Friends to Lovers, Grooming, High School AU, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abortion, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Marijuana, Masturbation, Molestation, NSFW, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Porn With Plot, Slow Burn, Slurs, Supportive Mac McDonald, Trans Charlie Kelly, Trans Male Character, Transphobia, Trauma, Underage Smoking, autistic Charlie Kelly, boys wearing makeup, mentions of self harm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:20:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 39,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27107101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valiidpunkman/pseuds/valiidpunkman
Summary: Mac mistakenly thinks that trans!Charlie is only insecure because of his lack of experience. Teaching him how to kiss seemed like the only sensible option, so he deals with all the consequences that follow.An exploration of Charlie’s life as a teenager and how Mac has influenced it.
Relationships: Charlie Kelly/Mac McDonald, Charlie/Mac
Comments: 41
Kudos: 88





	1. pucker up, bitch

**Author's Note:**

> Making a mini series out of this! I have no idea how much I’ll drag it out, but I’m excited:) this has trans!Charlie, because he’s so small and his voice is SUPER high I think it fits. he’s not out to the gang quite yet. 
> 
> this ones for fans of CharMac <3

There was plenty of evidence to draw Mac to the conclusion that Charlie is and has always been pretty goddamn different. He’d go as far as saying he’s different from anybody else he’d ever crossed paths with in Philly. 

Clues Mac had been ignorant in picking up on earlier were small and camouflaged in plain sight. Blatant examples were things like Charlie refusing to take his shirt off by the time they both turned thirteen, or hugging his chest whenever he was backed into a corner and had to wear a thinner layer than he usually did. These were all what he’d come to accept and practically trademark as Charlie Things, plain and simple. When it was so disgustingly hot outside that wearing clothes with sleeves or heavy layers weren’t an option for Mac, his friend was still seen with that same ratty, unwashed sweatshirt that covered and swallowed him whole.

Other quirks that seem so distinctively his were the tantrums he’d throw on a monthly basis. When they happened, Charlie would sit himself on the toilet during lunch and wouldn’t give in to any of Mac’s pleading and bitching to hang with Dennis and actually eat a meal. He’d even scream at their PE teacher when he couldn’t endure dressing down for class that week, rolling himself into a ball while rocking back and forth. 

Mac originally took all of these things kinda personally, growing a pitiful concern that he’d been the one responsible for making Charlie so cranky and sensitive. But when it was all done and over with, his tantrums came and gone without either of them having an honest to God conversation about it.

There wasn’t anything necessarily _ordinary_ about him in the first place, so Mac came to accept all of these eccentricities and ended up embracing them. When the Bad Time would come, Mac willfully stuck by Charlie’s side to bite back at any of their peers or authority that gave Charlie a hard time when he was obviously in distress. He’d keep him comfortable by lending him sweatshirts that the boy practically swam in they were so long. He seemed to like burying his body in anything that felt soft to his skin and didn’t cling to his chest or show the slightest, vague outline of his figure. It was just how he liked things. And however Charlie liked things, Mac subconsciously tried memorizing for the next time he had another Charlie episode. 

For his fourteenth birthday Mac gave him some cheap, tacky ski vest he dug out from the lost and found that looked small enough to fit but puffy enough to hide whatever he wanted to hide. After a giddy, manic Charlie unwrapped the gift, he never seemed to take it off even in the midst of a Philly heat wave. Mac saw how much it helped him stop wrapping his arms around himself, gave him a broader stance and straighter posture. It brought a grin to his face knowing he could help out, and he wouldn’t admit it to anybody, but the little guy looked positively adorable in it all the time. 

He wasn’t so sure that Charlie would ever find the courage to open up about whatever he was self conscious over. Nonetheless, Mac decided that respecting his boundaries was the smart move, and just taking him for who he is would be less difficult.

So, Charlie was and _has_ always been unique in every sense of the word, in both pleasant and non pleasant ways. He still hadn’t hit his growth spurt even though they’re well into their high school career, couldn’t read or write for shit, and never bothered looking at girls like the rest of the guys. Mac felt an odd safety net from the fact that he didn’t have to boast about and act like a guy that got or wanted pussy all the time. It wasn’t a big deal to not be as girl crazy as the rest of the guys in their grade were. Mac still pledged that he’d stick himself right by Charlie’s side for life regardless of how weird he was or how weird they were together. 

-

They’re seventeen by the time Charlie is forced to finally be open about it, even if it was technically on accident. It was a little while after Mac and Charlie started their arrangement.

Charlie was often annoyingly loud and dismissive as a sober individual, but got even worse when he drank himself into oblivion and inhaled all the glue he could get his paws on. He’d ramble on about his thoughts on anything and everything; how good bugs taste, how upset it makes him when rats are treated poorly, how unfair it is that they get put in cages while there are actual terrible people roaming free. 

Sometimes he delves down into deeper things, like how misunderstood he feels around anyone who isn’t Mac. Or how freakishly often it is that he “forgets” to take a shower. Charlie leaves out the parts about how he can’t stand being naked and forced to wash or look down at his foreign, feminine pudgy body. What he did actually end up saying was the part about how the grime and the smell doesn’t bother him like it does other people.

Naturally, Mac starts rambling about his desperate conquest for getting laid at a certain point of their totally platonic sleepover. It’s dark, surely there’s copious amounts of alcohol and glue being exchanged between the two of them. 

Charlie specifically requested that Dennis _not_ be a participant in this weekend’s hang out. Mac couldn’t deny him their one-on-one time, especially after seeing how uncomfortable he gets around Dennis. Mac has watched his smaller friend unravel and eventually spiral down to another meltdown when Dennis doesn’t keep his mouth shut about things that should have been known as unspoken rules already. Like Charlie’s weird uncle; or his habit of eating any object he sees even if it isn’t edible, down to the all the layers he constantly wears.

Charlie’s insecure. Mac understood that much. He tries to reassure him in the moment with a drunken pat on the back, finding the only words he knows to help.

“Char, you don’t even have that much to worry about. You’re a handsome, and little, and you know a lot about goblins. And ghouls. And sure, there are girls out there, ones that I have never met.... that _might_ consider hittin’ that! But you know what your problem is, dude? You blow ‘em off! Next thing you know you’re left wondering why you can’t get any pussy, man! It’s all dogshit,” Mac declared in his infamously loud, unfiltered speech.

“Dude, it’s more complicated than _that._ I do want girls sometimes, and I can show it. Maybe I show it in a weird way, like following them around or memorizing their class schedule. But who cares! They all should know I mean well, but they just... I dunno, they don’t get me like you do. And I don’t need - I don’t want sex from girls,” Charlie grimaced at the thought of fucking _anybody_ from school for that matter.

“What’s so hard to get about you?” Mac wonders, looking at Charlie with utter confusion on top of concern before he takes a chug of whatever’s in his hand. He’s never really pried too deep before, but maybe it’s about time he ought to if it meant finding a way to help his buddy out with all his personal issues. “Besides you know, all your dumpster dives and how I gotta remind you to wear deodorant. Which shouldn’t happen, by the way. But you got, you got so much about you that’s _endearing_ and _sweet_ and there’s just -“

Charlie closed in on himself after Mac trailed off weakly. He’s always found himself feeling unworthy and uneasy of being the center of Mac’s attention. “I... I dunno, man,” Charlie shakes his head, fiddling with the strings on his hoodie. “But that’s pretty normal, I think. People don’t shower all the time.”

“Okay, that’s completely false, but I’ll move on because I’m - forget it. What do you mean you _don’t know?_ Fuck, it feels like I’m talking to a tiny brick wall. You’re actually pretty goddamn attractive and it’s time to accept it. And I’m no homo, but if I _had_ to be for a night or whatever, gun to my head, you bet your ass I’d be getting down on that ass,” Mac snorts, not-so-subtly running his eyes up and down his friend’s figure. How could Charlie feel such a ridiculous thing like insecurity while being so effortlessly, _frustratingly_ cute?

Charlie blushes, sporting a sweet, glowing pink in his cheeks that Mac was immediately in awe of.

“Fuck, man. See? You’re even cuter when you blush,” Mac compliments, loving this loose, flustered version of Charlie as opposed to the nervous, jittery Charlie. 

“Shut up,” Charlie laughs anxiously, hiding part of his face in one palm of his hand while his other arm seemed to automatically fasten itself around his chest. He wasn’t wearing the vest Mac bought him tonight. It was probably dirty and it’s not at all like him to do laundry himself. 

“No _you_ shut up,” Mac lazily fought back, grabbing Charlie’s arms with a loose grip. Sometime he’d tag along when Mac went to the gym but never went farther than the treadmill. Always still wearing those several exact unnecessary layers he’d sweat buckets in while Mac would hit the weights. He assumed that maybe Charlie was only self conscious because he didn’t get his pump on like the rest of the guys did.

“You don’t have to hide from me. Fat or skinny, I’m by your side! We could hit the gym more often, I can pretend I’m Dennis again and steal his membership ID. _This,”_ Mac flapped Charlie’s noodle arms in the air, “is fixable.”

Charlie flinched while he tried pulling away. “No no no, Mac. Nuh-uh! I’m not doing that. That’s not — that’s not what this is about.”

Mac is still in his own little world, oblivious to any of Charlie’s discomfort while he spitballs more ideas. “Oh shit, bro! I got it, I think I definitely got it this time,” Mac snaps his fingers with drunk clarity, thinking he’d put the pieces together all by himself. “I know why you’re nervous.”

The smaller boy’s ears perk up with amused curiosity paired with unshakeable nerves. “You do?” 

“Oh yeah,” he licks his lips before meeting Charlie’s eyes. He waits for his friend to finish his thought as his face starts to frown, petrified that Mac’s already figured it all out and doesn’t like what’s in front of him. “You’re only scared ‘cause you don’t have the same experience as me and the rest of the gang do.”

Charlie’s immediately overwhelmed with relief that his best friend is still just as stupid as he usually comes off as being. He gives a little shrug to himself in thought, remembering that Mac isn’t entirely wrong there. But that’s not what weighs him down. He could give a flying fuck about getting laid. Deciding to play along with this so that Mac can take the win, he moves on and goes with it.

“Uh. Yeah. It’s just all kinda weird to me - kissing, groping, going all the way, y’know. I haven’t done that like you guys have. I guess that means you caught me,” he pretends to confess with a performative snort as he pointed towards himself, like he’d been all figured out.

“See, bro! Now, what we gotta do is we gotta get you kissed.”

“Yeah! I — wait. What now?”

Mac is in the middle of another sip before swallowing, wiping the stray trail of beer that dripped down his chin with the back of his hand. Charlie doesn’t know how he feels about that, because kissing _that_ mouth seems gross, but can also sometimes seem forbidden in an exciting way. Especially since this isn’t just some girl from school that looked at him weird in the halls. This isn’t any of them. This is Mac.

“We need to get you someone who’ll kiss you! It’ll ‘getcha the practice you need so you can get some goddamn confidence, for fuck’s sake.”

Charlie scratches the back of his neck with his typical nervous disposition. “Oh man. I don’t know if that’s really necessary, though.”

“Alright alright alright, fine! Tell you what, I’ll be the one to give you kissing pointers so you’ll know what it’s like. Pucker up, bitch,” Mac casually says, as if it’s not really anything at all. “Did you remember to put on the chapstick I gave you?” 

Charlie is still predominantly confused by Mac’s reaction and seemingly _odd_ problem solving skills. 

“Uh. Yeah. I put it on all time, I still got it here in my pocket—“

“Great. Go ahead and pop some more of that on, then we’ll get goin’ on your first lesson,” Mac rubs his hands together like he’s come up with something foolproof, enthusiastically planting his ass on the couch right beside Charlie. “Now, this is just kissing etiquette. Chapped lips aren’t cute, and before you ask: no, licking your lips does not count as moisturizing. You brush your teeth this morning?”

Charlie nods wordlessly, fiddling with the sleeves of his sweatshirt as he tries to calm the rapid drum of his heartbeat going off in his rib cage. 

“Good job, bro. Impressive. Okay, you ready for your first hands-on experience?”

“I think so,” he murmurs cluelessly, taking a breath for preparation. 

Mac scoots impossibly closer than before, both boys touching each other’s knees before he closes his eyes and leans in. Charlie gets a better whiff of Mac’s natural musk the closer he gets, bracing himself for either a tongue battle or something to mash his teeth. When Mac actually gets around to slowly smoothing his lips on Charlie’s, his sensory issues don’t get in the way of it at all. Mac doesn’t rush or make it slimy or sticky with his tongue, actually taking his time getting Charlie comfortable with the invasion of space as he moves his sweet lips in an easy wave for him to follow; up and down, side to side, up and down again. There’s a weird, wet smacking sound coming from their lips joining together, and Charlie wanted to laugh at it but couldn’t muster up a chuckle even if he tried. 

Mac feels a spark that excites him enough to let his hands wander away from his own lap, going up to Charlie’s shoulders then subtly trailing down his back. He takes note of Charlie’s unusual body language beneath him, exploring what makes him get stiff and what makes him wiggle and moan. It’s insane how hot it is when Charlie actually lets himself make noises come out from his throat right into Mac’s mouth the first time. When he finds that it’s nothing to be embarrassed about because Mac gets even more enthusiastic with his tongue, he lets himself go to truly enjoy and writhe in the touch.

“Goddamn, Charlie Boy, that was actually pretty hot. You’re not so bad at this, y’know,” Mac panted, fanning his friend’s little face with his hot breath when he pulls away for the first time. Charlie is just as out of breath, if not more, keeping his eyes closed and his hands clawing at Mac’s t-shirt. 

“Mm, more. I want s’more,” Charlie pleads with a lazy, child-like whine. 

“Anything for you,” Mac promised, going in for another lip lock with his best friend. Charlie’s brain stops thinking about what he has to hide all the time, of what he’s grown to be ashamed of. Instead, he focuses on how to keep up with the tongue that’s currently plowing his mouth, making his heart beat in places it hasn’t beat before. He feels his crotch getting damp from so much excitement, a completely different sensation he’s ever felt for anyone else before. 

“Damn,” Mac cursed into his neck, hands traveling further than they should be. Mac is getting stiff and hard, needy to the touch as he boldly sucks on his friend’s lower lip. Charlie didn’t notice or focus on being felt up, too distracted from Mac’s kissing expertise. “How does that fuckin’ feel, Charlie Boy?” 

Before the smaller boy can anticipate his friend’s next movements, a mouth is nipping and kissing at his ear while a pair of hands squeeze to play with his ass. Charlie can’t think of anything to say so he groans, getting helplessly wet in his boxers as he arches into Mac.

“Hmm?” Mac asks again, teasing Charlie as he barks in frustration at having to answer.

“Fuck, man, it feels good - hurry up and kiss me already,” he complained as Mac flashed him a grin and laid Charlie down face up on the couch. He’s small enough to barely take up half the room on the thing. Mac feels so big just hovering over him like this. It turned him on more than he could comprehend, his cock bunching up his underwear as Charlie dreamily gazes up at him with want.  
His rather small, pale hands claw at Mac’s muscle t-shirt to yank him down to his lips again. Mac is practically beaming with delight as he lets Charlie grab a hold of him before taking care of the rest, cupping Charlie’s jaw in his palm before going back in. While their lips mesh together again, Charlie feels Mac give him a solid grind from his hips down to his and he can’t help but pull away and make some noise that could be inhuman.

“Fuck that’s _it_ Mac, right there dude. Yes,” he shouts in a typical Charlie-fashion, getting his hands up to his friend’s shoulders and squeezing tight. Mac continues his rough grinding down on Charlie’s crotch, unbeknownst to him starting a wildfire in Charlie’s stomach from it. The smaller boy tries to detect how it’s making him feel, how his body feels a little sick but excited all at the same time. He forgets to analyze this any further and just licks harder into his best friend’s mouth. 

After another five minutes of sloppily kissing and grinding, the boys split for the sake of taking a breath. Charlie loves the feeling of Mac on top of him, the heavy weight of his best friend keeping him grounded and in the moment. Mac has a glint in his eye that says he wants more, but Charlie didn’t catch it, still blindly feeling Mac up and down from his ass to the back of his neck and his hair. 

“Charlie,” he whispers, quiet enough that his friend doesn’t quite hear it at first. “Charlie, asswipe! Listen to me.”

“Hmm?” the smaller boy murmurs, still looking distracted enough to hardly listen to what Mac is going to say.

“I really wanna suck you off,” he confesses, bowing down to chew and lick Charlie’s ear again, remembering how crazy it made him last time. Sure enough, Charlie whines as expected, but then noticeably stiffens underneath him. Mac pulls away an inch, squinting playfully as he pinched Charlie in the ribs and chuckles at how he pouts and yells at him to stop. It’s so cute that Mac almost forgets why they aren’t making out anymore or taking each other’s pants off. 

“What is it, dude? C’mon, it’ll feel great, I promise. I’ll make it good for you,” he begs with as much seduction as he can play off, trying to butter Charlie up like how he was a minute ago when he yanked him down for more kisses. “I’ll go nice and slow for you, Charlie Boy. Wind you up, make you want more of it, then you can get a real feel of what it’s like to get some good head.” 

Mac is so wrapped up in how turned on he is describing what he wants to do to him to see Charlie widen his eyes in a moment of panic. He couldn’t fathom rejecting his best friend because of his stupid body dysphoria, but he also can’t stand the thought of taking his shirt off and showing Mac who he really is. The idea makes him shiver unpleasantly, the sweat from all the layers underneath his sweatshirt making him stick to his clothes. It was too hot, with Mac still hovering over on top of him, but Charlie wasn’t ready to take anything off. After a long, pregnant pause of silence suffocating the room, Charlie speaks up with a shy, timid tone.

“I’m not too sure about that, man,” he swallows, blankly looking up at the ceiling in worry as Mac eyes him. 

“What the hell do you mean you’re not sure? I’m doing this for you. I’m helping you get the experience that _you_ wanted,” Mac scrunched his eyebrows together as he sits up and scoots away from his friend. He’s seeing for the first time that Charlie isn’t kidding around. He’s glued to his position on the couch, now folding his hands over his chest as he shakily wipes the new sweat off his forehead. Mac feels sober for the first time tonight watching things get terrifyingly real.

“Yeah, bro! You’re helping me a lot with all this. It’s just, the thing is... I like kissing you though. Do you think we can um, we can stick with just that for now? Maybe?” he squawked with an innocent stutter.

Mac takes a second to look up, close his eyes and let out a deep sigh. Charlie isn’t so good at reading people, but he can sense that he’s disappointed his friend. 

“Yeah. I’ll only give you kisses for now, buddy.” Mac nods, looking up to meet his friend’s eyes to see how he was feeling. Charlie couldn’t meet his eyes and doesn’t try to, now wrapped up in a ball as he tries to stifle his anxiety. Without any more contemplating it, Charlie swoops up from the couch and nearly face plants into the coffee table on the way down. A string of barely audible curses follow his departure, now trying to get up off his ass and to the door. 

“Charlie, everything alright?” Mac asks suspiciously, eyeing his friend as he scrambles to put his shoes on. 

“Everything... everything is _great,_ man. Uh, I think my mom’s expecting me back real soon, she gets lonely when I’m not home.” 

“Bull _shit_ Charlie, I can smell from a mile away when you’re about to wig out on me again, okay, don’t leave it like this—“ 

“I dunno what you’re saying, Mac, ‘cause I feel like a million bucks. In fact, I feel like I just fucked up and almost _banged_ my best friend all for some _stupid_ lesson!” Charlie howled, his voice boisterous enough to make Mac hold his hands over his ears and cringe. 

“I said it’s _fine_ that we just kiss, okay! I don’t see why you’re so fucking weird about this, but I’m your best friend and I wouldn’t _dare_ criticize you for your performance or whatever your body looks like! I’m _sorry_ bro, excuse me for wanting us to have a good time!“

Charlie tried his best to look away from Mac’s annoying puppy dog stare, finding the only substitute to be the muddy tile floor beneath him. He never could hold eye contact with anybody for too long when shit got serious like this, and at this point Mac didn’t expect Charlie to look back at him. 

“C’mon, man. We can play a little more PacMan and forget about what... what a good kisser you are and shit,” Mac blushed, folding his arms to do something with his hands that wasn’t awkward. 

He risks looking up at Charlie again, watching him to study what he might do. Maybe he’ll just forget all about this, sit on the opposite side of the couch for personal space then have Mac order them some kickass Domino’s. Or maybe he’ll run back up to Mac and kiss him again. There were a lot of ways this could go, but Mac wasn’t expecting the door to creek open with Charlie and his untied shoes sauntering out of it.

“Thanks man, but uh... I better go. I’ll see you later, Mac.”

Mac doesn’t say anything back. He’s left equally as stunned as he is hurt, finding himself already feeling eager to get wasted by himself and think about what he’s done. Not only how weird he’s made the gang’s dynamic, but also how uncomfortable he made Charlie feel. He thinks about how the rest of the weekend will suck ass, Monday included. 

Without any particularly nice thoughts left in him, he makes himself clean up their beer cans and tidy the room back up like there weren’t just two teenagers making out there. Mac tries justifying reasons in his head for resting on the couch him and Charlie were just grinding on, but doesn’t come up with anything clever. He cuddles into the couch pillow and swears he _won’t_ think nor dream of Charlie’s grin, Charlie’s eyes, or Charlie’s moaning while Mac was on top of him. No fucking way.


	2. cupid chokehold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pretty heavy on dialogue + Dennis and more humorous than dramatic. let me know what you think !

“Maybe his _mommy_ didn’t buy him his _special favorite_ Cocoa Puffs or something, man. Who cares? Why worry about something so temporary like this?” Dennis scoffs like a judgmental girl as his eyes drift towards the clouds that surround the sun. “Kid’s gotta have something goin’ on up there, if you know what I mean,” he gestures to his temple with cartoon-like wide eyes. He shrugs once more in the direction of a stoic, still somewhat disheveled Mac shaking his head. 

“No. This is different, bro. I kinda —“ Mac suddenly paused and sighed again, running a hand over his face in misery. “I just messed up the other night while he was over, and... he took it all wrong then left. He never does that. _Ever._ Usually he’ll just sit in the bathroom or in the corner, or even in the basement like that one time,” Mac continued on as Dennis raised his eyebrows as if he’d only made his previous statement proven true. “But like, it’s kinda bad this time.” 

“I could give a flying piece of Dee’s bird shit if he doesn’t speak with us ever again. Hell, it’s social suicide anytime he comes within ten feet of us with all his filth,” Dennis laughs, unsuccessfully dodging Mac’s jab in the shoulder with a hiss. “Oh come on, dude! Come on! You _are_ aware he doesn’t bathe himself, aren’t you? His mom and his creepy ass uncle still have to do it for him. Now is that the kind of person we even _want_ in our group? It’s embarrassing enough having Dee shoehorn herself in.” 

“Seriously, she needs a shoehorn for like, her entire wardrobe. Your sister is massive.”

“Yeah, she’s a disgusting bitch. Moving on,” Dennis clears his throat before tucking his hands in his pockets. “So, you going to Nikki Potnick’s party?” 

Mac stops and looks up at Dennis to see if he’s fucking with him or not. “That chick is throwing something on a Monday night? Jesus. And I thought I was well on my way to being an alcoholic,” he scratched his head in what appeared to be deep thought.

“No, you goddamn moron. It’s this Friday. And you have no right to judge, _Ronald,_ ” Dennis teases, watching Mac’s reaction to hearing the use of his real name. A beat red flush eases down his cheeks and neck as he rolls his eyes to mask the humiliation. 

“Fuck off,” Mac grumbled in pathetic retaliation, reaching into his backpack for a cigarette. His mom never gave a shit to stop him from taking a few from her bag as long as he bought her another pack. He’ll still cough every now and then like a loser, but it’s only when he’s stressed out that they seem to have a better effect on him. “And no, I wasn’t exactly planning on going anywhere.”

“Yeah well here’s some more tough shit for you, guy. I told Charlie that you’d drive all of us there, so suck up whatever’s busting your balls, man,” Dennis snorts, inevitably screwing Mac over with a smile on his face yet again. 

“What the hell are you talking about? No — did you not hear _anything_ I told you about Charlie getting pissed at me and fucking _leaving?_ ” Mac demands with a rage he’s stored solely for when Dennis was acting like a bastard. 

His eyes roll before he squints at Mac like he’s the dumb one before responding. “Why yes, Mac, it’s not like I could’ve missed it what with you _bitching_ and moaning about losing your girlfriend when you wanted to spend the whole weekend together—“ Dennis ups his voice several pitches while mocking Mac, going as far as pretending to wipe stray tears. 

“Shut up, dickhole. He isn’t my girlfriend.”

“Sure sounds like it, looks like it, hell. It even _smells_ like it, too,” Dennis teased, putting his regular dose of good old Dennis Reynolds, Nauseating Diva in his posture. 

“I will fucking _end_ you if you keep talking, dude.” Mac soothes his temples with his fingers, taking a deep drag out of his hardly touched cigarette. Dennis thought he was always just being a fucking poser like how he is with the so-called “karate,” but it’s an undeniably depressing picture. Mac, his unsexy bed head at eight o’clock in the morning; bags under his eyes, cigarette dangling from his lip. It gives Dennis a strange feeling of pity for him. 

“Damn. This whole Charlie thing really got to you, didn’t it?” he asks, surprising generosity laced in his tone that initially shocks Mac. 

“I guess. Yeah. Yeah it really did,” he answered, getting more and more confident in telling him the truth. He looks up at his friend to watch the gears grinding in his head for coming up with something comforting to say. Mac patiently waits for the condescending advice to come from his mouth, but is fortunately met with nothing of the sorts.

“Well, if it makes you feel better, he doesn’t feel any of the guilt you feel. In fact, he sounded pretty fuckin’ dandy to me when I told him _you’d_ be there driving us and hanging out and shit,” he summarized with a simple shrug, unaware of the impact his words have. 

Mac’s heart beats two times faster.

“He was — Charlie sounded _happy?_ ” 

“Yeah. Kid was excited as shit.”

Mac thinks back to The Incident on the couch in his living room. It was on Saturday.

“When did you tell him about it? About me coming with you guys to the thing? Yesterday or Saturday?” he hurried to ask, mouth wide open and brow raised high. 

“Jesus, dude. It was only yesterday. Nikki’s parents let her throw a party whenever she wants ‘cause she catches her dad fucking the nanny or something. They do it all the time,” Dennis smirked. 

Mac tilts his head in thought. “Huh. The dad and the nanny? Or the parties?”

“Oh, for sure both.”

“Yeah. That’s true.” 

“But, dude, why do you think I was saying the shit I said to you five minutes ago? His temper tantrums are only temporary, bro. He probably forgot whatever shit you pulled or already forgave you for it. See it for what it is now, jackass?”

Mac is tempted to rip him a new one with another good comeback until their sixty-something year old Bio teacher appears from around the corner to where they’ve been smoking and chatting.

“Shit, shit, _shit,_ bro, we gotta bolt. Code red!“ Mac whisper-shouted while huffing one last lung full of smoke, coughing it out like it’s cancer. He’s quick to rub the heel of his shoe into the ground when ashing his smoke before hauling ass around to the next building. Dennis is fast on his tail. Mac of course hears her angry faint accusations and questions such as “ _What are you two doing back here? Shouldn’t you be in class? It’s policy to have a hallway pass at all times..._ ”.

Right when the boys feel confident in their safety from their sixty-something old Bio teacher, a different, deeper voice calls out their full names. 

Mac is still in victory mode from getting away, giving Dennis a good twelve fist bumps and high five’s before getting the memo and turning around while Dennis stayed silent. 

“God fucking dammit.” 

“Way to go running only about _fifty feet away_ from teachers, asshole,” Dennis spat and scoffed in his ear, selling out immediately by marching over. Their school’s beefy, tall glass of water football coach slash Algebra teacher stands with a glare. Mac kind of drools a little bit when he looks at him like that, if he’s being honest. 

As Mac and Dennis face the consequences of their skipping class doings, both now have to walk to class again, this time with detention slips crumbled up in their pockets. The beefy Algebra teacher said he’s got his eye on them, and Mac was weirdly kind of flattered because of it.

“Good, well now we get to waste our entire lunch period sitting around and playing with ourselves,” Dennis bitched as he stretched his arms out with a long, heavy yawn. 

“Shit. This means I can’t talk to Charlie today at lunch, man,” Mac sighs in defeat as he trudged his ass right back to second period. 

“Hey. Don’t get all pouty on me again baby boy,” he playfully cooed, reaching up at Mac’s thick, nearly jet black hair and ruffles it like he’s his older sibling that bullies the shit out of him or something. Mac wanted to roll his eyes at his strange use of that nickname but decides on holding back to hear what he’s gonna say. “We’ve still got Friday to look forward to, don’t we? And we always see him right before fifth period, stop shitting in your little panties over this.” 

“Yeah. I guess you got a point there,” Mac agreed somewhat reluctantly, stuffing a hand in his pants pocket. Dennis opened and held the door for Mac with pride and glee, as he was _finally_ being listened to for once. 

—

Mac doesn’t get any work done in second period. Or any of his classes, for the matter. Choosing instead to spend all his precious time over-analyzing last Saturday to develop a steady, realistic interpretation of what happened. 

He definitely drank a ridiculous load of PBR, but he still remembers the entire night to a T. How _scared_ Charlie looked when he was asked by Mac to let him get his mouth on his dick. Mac doesn’t want to think about the hurt he caused, but instead chooses to think of the better stuff he’s responsible for. Charlie did get to have his very first kiss, and it was a pretty fucking good one at that. Mac mentally pats himself on the back with a tangible smirk as he twirls his pencil around with his thumbs, stuck inside his daydream. He also gave him an awesome first couch-make out session. Mac’s had a few of those already before, but none of them could’ve prepared him for the hot, exhilarating feeling of it all last Saturday. Charlie being so helpless for him, Charlie acting unbelievably slutty underneath him, _Charlie..._

A wave of arousal followed by panic shot through him like a bullet, pants significantly tighter as sweat starts gathering up on his brow. 

“Um, may I use the restroom?” Mac asks with a sense of urgency, getting followed up by a questioning nod and yet another reminder to carry a stupid hall pass. He rushed out, pass included, to exit and head straight for the restrooms, finding one that’s not too far from class. After a weird and quite desperate half-jog, he locks himself in an empty stall for extra privacy. 

“God dammit,” Mac cursed, carelessly dropping the pass and grabbing his dick through his pants. He isn’t shy with already starting up a good rhythm in stroking himself, hard and thorough. With his fumbling fingers he managed to unzip himself and pull it completely out. He doesn’t waste any time in giving the palm of his hand spit for lubrication, either. 

“ _Fuck, man, it feels good - hurry up and kiss me already,_ ” Mac replays the memory over and over again in his head, rigorously fisting the base of his cock in his wet palm while closing his eyes and harshly breathing in and out.

He can’t stop himself from going faster and faster, now freely leaking pre-cum from the swelled up tip as his cock gets bobbed up and down.

“ _Fuck that’s it Mac, right there dude. Yes,_ ” he recalls Charlie moaning out after kissing and nibbling at his ears. His perfect soft spot. ” _Mm, more. I want s’more,_ ” Charlie had been begging him to go further and faster, pawing at his t-shirt like it was a vice. Mac is the only one responsible for making him _needy_ like that. _Fuck._

“ _Anything for you,_ ” Mac said.

“Shit, y-yeah, still do anything for you, anything,” Mac whispered to rile himself and imaginary Charlie up. His deft hands start rubbing his dick from tip, to base, even down to his balls in a slower, hard motion. In a matter of seconds he’s practically shot with an arrow by Cupid himself, cumming thick and white all over his firm hand. 

Unable to catch a breath, he pants like a dog in the sun as he comes down from the high of his orgasm. He takes a moment to reach out and rest his elbow on the side of the stall for balance. He lazily looks down to inspect the mess and finds that only a spurt or two landed on the toilet seat. With one final deep breath, he wipes the seat off with toilet paper and flushes the scene of the crime, swiftly heading back to class like nothing had happened. 

With one brief glance in the mirror at his appearance, Mac feels his cheeks getting hot as he tried to shake off what he’d just done and _where_ he’d just done it. 

—

Out of all the things that make Charlie _Charlie,_ his most famous calling card has to be that voice. 

It’s high, sheer, and he always speaks his mind with it. Mac has come to appreciate his blunt, unapologetic nature as opposed to Dennis; whom outright hates even the slightest sound of him and will tell him to be quiet anytime his mouth is open.

Mac almost immediately knows who the culprit is when hearing that same loud, eccentric voice yelling some story about a bunch of cats following him home. After forty-five minutes of solid daydreams all about gauging his eyes out in detention, it excites him to hear the little guy even from far away. 

Mac had not only been glued to a bratty Dennis for the entirety of lunch, but also some goth chick that carved pictures of dicks in her desk without ever looking up. It was a flat out bore, not getting to leave and say what he has to say to his friend, or head to the restrooms and jerk it again off of memories from the weekend. How it didn’t go, but _could’ve_ gone. Mac is still kicking himself for making Charlie feel like he had to run away from him, but feelings of hope are still trying to wash out all of the negatives. There’s still a nice possibility that he may already be forgiven. 

Charlie’s once distant voice now sounded closer, his petite figure adorably waddling side by side of what was none other than Sweet Dee. She’d been limping with a heavy back brace attached to her like a failed Halloween costume for several years now. Mac thought at first to be sensitive about it, but that mindset went right out the window after getting to know her. 

He took note that today the vest he bought for him is zipped over some mundane grey hoodie. It’s a funny characteristic of Charlie’s, to be seen wearing the exact same thing several times a week.

Mac stupidly realizes that Charlie actually bonds with Dee more often than he ever even speaks to Dennis. The thought of them having a conversation or simply sharing something they have in common makes Mac chuckle to himself a bit. She’s a good three inches taller than him, even with her fucked up back. Mac supposes that they may bond over getting bullied all the time, something of a certain language they share when it comes to humiliation from their peers. 

As soon as the unforgiving alarm of the school bell goes off, Mac instinctively cringed as he heard that unmistakable sound of the Charlie Scream. 

” _FUCK!_ Why the _shit_ does that stupid thing have to be so goddamn loud every time? Uh, _newsflash_ you mean assholes! All of our ears worked perfectly fine before!” Charlie shouts from right outside the building, blindly throwing his fists in the air from being agitated while Dee rolled her eyes next to him. It seemed to be a Reynolds thing, right next to being snobby and having an attitude about nearly everything that mildly inconveniences them. 

“Oh _please_ Charlie. You’re not so quiet yourself you know,” Dee barked back. Mac is quick on his feet to join them while Dennis stalls and eventually loses them in the herd of students now bombarding the hallway. He tries not making it too obvious that he ran out to see them, whistling with fake ease as he sneaks up behind the pair. 

“Yeah bro, that bell _is_ pretty bad, huh?” Mac chimes in, testing the waters and observes how Charlie reacts. 

He holds his breath while getting ready for rejection yet again, for him to up and leave, until—

“Mac! Buddy, hey! I hate that stupid bell too, man, I’ve been sending complaints since Freshman year!” Charlie gasped and laughed all at once as he turned completely around to charge Mac. For all the things he was attempting to prepare for, _this_ wasn’t in any of the made up scenarios from his head. With careful apprehension, he pats his friend’s back with one hand as he coughs and strains a laugh. 

“Yeah, yeah I remember. You’d scream when it went off every hour then throw whatever was nearby at anyone that looked at you,” he recalled with an uncontrollable, lopsided grin, meeting Charlie’s eyes for the first time since that weekend. 

Charlie soon broke eye contact to stare at the dirt beneath his sneakers, still smiling with his chin down. 

Dee hadn’t so much as acknowledged Mac or her twin brother from a distance. They all quietly knew she didn’t really have anyone else to walk her to her next class or even eat lunch with, so her joining the gang wasn’t exactly ideal for any of them. She spoke up as she adjusted some streaks of her hair that got caught inside her brace.

“Yup. Betcha got plenty of detentions for that one, boner.” 

” _Loooots_ of detention. Oh yeah, lots and lots of ‘em,” Charlie shamelessly agreed and gave a shrug, looking forward as Mac keeps him in his peripheral. He was then reminded of why he didn’t get to see or talk to him in the first place.

“Oh uh, yeah — I meant to see you at lunch, but me and Dennis were just skipping and we got caught. We just got out a minute ago, looks like he already hit it.”

Charlie looks up at him when he heard Dennis’ name. “Yeah? What stuff were you and him doing?” he asked, nothing detected in his tone that said he had secret intent behind asking him, as far as Mac knew. 

“Just smoking and shit. I didn’t say anything about —“ he stopped himself abruptly, feeling like he really shouldn’t have touched that subject with a ten foot pole. “Uh, he bitched about Dee a lot, called her a bird and stuff,” he lied, mentally scolding himself halfway through his lame finish. Dee is Speedy Gonzales while whipping her head around and defend herself. 

“Fuck you and fuck Dennis. You guys don’t know _dick_ about who I really am,” she bites back, sending a hard glare in Mac’s direction before stomping off to her next class. 

“I’ll catch ya in English, Dee,” Charlie called out, waving his hand goodbye before she flips them both the bird without turning around. 

“Uh, is it cool if like, you just skip the first few minutes of class and come talk with me for a quick sec?” Charlie requested, scratching the back of his head before pointing in the general direction of the men’s restroom. Mac’s pulse speeds up embarrassingly easily, finding it hard to keep up his charade of acting cool. 

“Yeah, that’s totally cool,” he complies, smiling when Charlie gave him an excited nod. 

Charlie slowly hooks an arm around Mac after some time, nearly melting Mac down to the bone. Kids still roam freely in and out of the hallway and the toilets, but Charlie found a place not completely isolated, but private enough to tense Mac up. 

Behind the dirtiest, most deserted bathroom that they have on school grounds, Charlie finally stops walking the two of them and pauses. While he’s looking around to see if the coast is clear, Mac starts rambling as many apologies he could fit in a sentence. 

“Dude, I _swear_ I didn’t know how upset you were, I’m so sorry. I was drunk, which isn’t like an _excuse,..._ but it’s definitely why I was horny and stupid — and I’m just sorry that I ruined all of it, bro,” he stop lamely, feeling like he’d just made himself look more pathetic. 

Charlie met his eyes and nodded, thinking quietly to himself.

“What are you thinking about, man? Just tell me what’s on your mind right n—”

The smaller boy is fast on his tippy-toes to reach for Mac’s cheek before he goes and kisses him. Sweet with the fucking right amount of _need,_ just like Saturday night (and also just the way Mac likes it). He’s nearly as stunned as he was when Charlie walked out, feeling the shakes start in his fingers as he gently held onto a nice chunk of Charlie’s hair. He kneaded and combed through it softly as Charlie opened his mouth to allow Mac’s tongue to explore. It feels just as incredible as it did before, putting Mac on the cusp of driving him absolutely insane. The smaller boy is the first to pull off before making up for it by leaning into him, like some sort of one-sided bear hug. 

“What... why’d you do that, man?” he wonders aloud, eyes still glued shut and mouth still processing who just kissed it. His head spins as if it’s gonna fall off. 

“Did I not do it right? Was I no good this time?” he asks, an unadulterated frown slapped on his face. It feels like Mac got stuck in front of a television that played the same sob story about unadopted dogs. Charlie’s unhappy face will likely even start up playing the violin. 

“No, Charlie that was— that was amazing. But why...” Mac shook his head, trying to understand him despite how hard it sometimes is.

“Really? Shit, that’s awesome! I brushed my teeth _again_ and put on some chapstick and everything like you said! Man, you are good at this teaching experience stuff,” Charlie goes on, blissfully unaware about any of Mac’s confusion. He looks back up at him, waiting for his hand to maybe pat him on the back or congratulate him on his kissing. When none of that comes, he raised his brow and feigned innocence before pecking him on the lips again.

” _Shit_ dude, oh my God you cannot keep doing that if you aren’t gonna tell me what’s going on,” Mac groans in emotional pain as unwelcome imaginary butterflies start to fly around in his gut. 

“It’s all good, dude. Like you said, you - you wanted to suck my dick and stuff, but like I only wanted just to maybe hug and kiss a little more... We’re fine, honest! Just had a minor, uh, freak out.” 

Mac squinted and tried reading Charlie, but it’s like he’s spelled with fucking hyroglifix sometimes. 

“You’re not still pissed at me?” he inquired, biting his lip and absentmindedly rubbing his thumbs on Charlie’s shoulders. It purely stems from habit, but Mac’s skin nearly turned to pink after realizing it.

“No, no, of course not!” he sighed out, shaking his head back and forth as if to say that that won’t ever happen, getting mad at Mac for real. “You’re my best friend. And you’re teaching me how to do this,” Charlie leans in to capture his lips again, grinning when their lips together make a wet smacking noise. Mac whines like a baby helpless for milk, bowing his head down to Charlie and touching each other’s foreheads.

“You’re already so good at it though, Charlie Boy,” Mac promises while his hands start to wanna go wild all over again. They find a place to rest with a nice handful of Charlie’s ass, giving Mac’s cock all kinds of pretty ideas.

Without any warning whatsoever, Charlie pulls away and licks his lips to taste Mac one last time. Mac combs Charlie’s hair back so it’s at least slightly less disheveled than it already was. He takes a risk of either ruining or heightening the mood by running up and slapping him right square on his ass.

Charlie’s quick to turn around before cupping his own ass in his hands as if it was hard enough to sting. A deep red has settled and started staining his entire face from getting fucking _spanked_ by _Mac._

“You said we’d only kiss from here on out, remember?” he shoved Mac to the side. Quickly changing the topic, he clears his throat before talking again. “You’ll be driving the gang to Nikki Potnick’s on Friday, right?” 

Mac pretends to think as if he hadn’t already been forced to go because of bastard Dennis. He makes a show of petting his chin while purposefully drawing it out. 

“Ehhh, I _guess_ I might be able to squeeze driving you bitches to Potnick’s. But I gotta move some other stuff and things around,” he shrugs, throwing a smirk at Charlie. 

“Sure, pal. Sure, you got _so_ much other shit to do or places to be.”

A lightbulb either turned off or turned on, but Mac rushed to the punch of not letting any opportunity get wasted.

“Hey, you wanna come to my house and make out tonight?— Hang out tonight?” he corrects himself without a flinch or a pause, looking hopefully at Charlie. 

“I dunno, Mac, it’s just that I have so many _‘plans’_ with so many _‘people’_ and so many _’things’_ to _’do,_ ” he teased back with excessive douchey air quotes. 

“Fuck you. You coming or what?” he demands again, already on a roll of being impatient with the boy.

Charlie turns back and doesn’t say anything, finding that the middle finger he flashed behind his back had said it all. 

“Guessing that means I will see you tonight then, _Chrundle.”_

“It _means_ that tonight you’ll just have to settle for kissing the mirror instead of kissing this sweet ass,” Charlie corrected. “Sorry dude, no dice. My mom said she’d let me have a box of my favorite sugar cereal if I stayed and watched movies with her.” 

Mac dropped his face into his fist as he shakes his head back and forth at his friend. “Charlie, we are seventeen. You should be allowed to eat whatever goddamn cereal you want.”

“That’s what I tell her! Why do you think I’m always eating the random shit I find on the ground or in the garbage, dude? It’s ‘cause I get fucking _curious,_ ” he defended himself with a petulant, hard pout on his face. Hearing things like that come from the mouth he just plowed with his own mouth is surely going to be a funny feeling for Mac.

“Well, what’s your favorite cereal? I’ll fucking pick a box up for you,” he asked while feigning anger. 

“Oh, some Cocoa Puffs would be great, dude. Thanks.”

“Nah bro, my pleasure.”

Mac thought back to this morning when Dennis made fun of Charlie throwing tantrums over cereal with his mom or something and laughs out loud by accident. Charlie looks at him weird for a second then moves on. 

He isn’t sure if Dennis got creative with the details on him getting bathed by his uncle, but Mac chose to sweep any thoughts of Charlie’s weird home life under the rug for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comment thoughts n stuff if ya like! Or send an ask on tumblr: @dumbpunkass


	3. cartoons and herb

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more Mac and Charlie kissing happenings ! what’s new about that though bahahah.
> 
> My tumblr for any asks or Sunny stuff: dumbpunkass :)

Despite not seeing each other outside school bounds until Thursday, Mac still felt an enormous sense of delight with how he’d ended the night; baked like a fucking cake lying on the fuzzy carpet of his living room, arms and knees touching Charlie’s of course. 

The night may have started off relatively innocent, but Charlie was never one to give a shit for following social codes and “rules” anyway. Mac had to give himself credit, given the state of his fucking dick this past week, because he _didn’t_ end up being the one who started it. His hands remained properly put to rest at his sides, thank you very much. They weren’t stuffed down his pants or groping Charlie for a change. These days it’s just been an endless itch he’s barely gotten to touch, keeping Mac up at night and eyeing his friend up and down at lunch. Although he promised himself he’d be proper and respectful, that didn’t mean he’d skip out on staring directly over at Charlie’s ass. His ass not only in all of its’ glory, but also happened to be protruding in the air as the boy bent over to sort through his box of VHS movies. 

“Hey Mac!” he called out, voice muffled from his head still buried inside the box. His ass casually moved from left to right as he popped his head out and grasped whichever movies caught his eye. Mac didn’t even react to his name at first from across the living room, busy biting his lip amidst yet another daydream of what he’d do if Charlie was just as ready as he was.

“Mac. _Maaaaac!_ ” Charlie calls out two more times, somehow having the capacity to triple his volume each and every time. 

“Quit it, bozo! My mom is upstairs watching TV,” Mac scolds, pointing up at the ceiling after shushing him and putting a finger to his lips. Charlie turns around as his shoulders begin to shake and his high pitch giggle starts to echo throughout the living room. Mac got a running start as he charged the smaller boy, whose scream could’ve easily been mistaken for an ambulance. “You’re too loud, asshole!” he couldn’t help but laugh along with him as he physically smothers Charlie’s mouth shut with the palm of his hand. His other arm goes for a loose chokehold as Charlie holds onto his bicep. Once he begrudgingly taps out and quits screaming at the top of his lungs, Mac releases his hold.

“As if Mrs. Mac actually gives a shit about whatever’s happening around her! One time as kids, me and Dee hit her in the face with my baseball and she just spit up some blood, made a gross noise then lit another cigarette and went on like nothing happened.” 

Mac paused as he waited to hear a “just kidding” somewhere in there or even at the end, scrunching his brows. When the “just kidding” never came, and Charlie’s stupid green eyes get even bigger, he pulls off of him and raises his voice. “Why the hell did you and Dee throw a baseball at my mom’s face, Charlie?!” 

The smaller boy shrugs and grew defensive. “Uh, I dunno dude, to see if she would actually show _any_ emotion for once! And surprise surprise, she didn’t!” he bit back, watching Mac roll his eyes and pinch the bridge of his nose. 

“Jesus Christ, bro. Not cool.”

Charlie was tempted to laugh out loud again even harder at the memory, but then senses that he’d sorta hurt Mac’s feelings. He decides on changing the subject but still claimed the win, despite Mac still shaking his head. He hides his movie picks behind his back before clearing his throat to give Mac a preview. “Anyway uh, I’m really kinda into _TMNT_ right now, but _Lady and the Tramp_ is also looking pretty decent as well,” he pulls them from behind to show Mac, waiting for his thoughts wordlessly.

“Good God, those are what you wanna watch? You wanna watch _cartoons_ with me?” Mac groans, putting a palm on his face. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but even me and Dennis have watched dirtier movies together when I stayed at his place.”

Charlie makes a face like someone just told him to eat shit for breakfast and shook his head rapidly. “Okay first of all, _Lady and the Tramp_ is a sophisticated film, I dunno what else to tell you on that. But you’re tellin’ me you watch _porn_ with _Dennis?!_ ”

Mac just about thought of gagging. “No! It’s not... well, okay _maybe_ once at his place when we were fourteen. His cranky midget dad walked in and things got pretty weird,” he admits like he wasn’t proud of anything that was coming out of his mouth, scratching the back of his neck. He looks up to find Charlie was already eyeing him. “ _What,_ dude? It’s not like I got to actually _enjoying_ myself and shit—“

Charlie is fed up with even talking about Mac spending time with Dennis, throwing the _TMNT_ tape to the ground. “I wanna watch _Lady and the Tramp!_ Okay! Can you do that for me Mac? Can you put on _Lady and the Tramp_ for me?” he cried out and thrashed his arms around, putting a good grin on Mac’s face by accident. 

“Alright alright chill out, Jabroni. I’m putting your little movie on right now,” he ruffled Charlie’s hair on his way over to the television. After successfully rewinding the entire tape to the very beginning, he slid an entire sheet of pizza bagels in the oven to heat up their munchies. Charlie looked adorably content sitting criss-cross applesauce on the ground, packing the pipe for them to share. 

“How’s your movie?” Mac asks, strolling over to his friend’s side while he waits to hear the oven go off.

“It’s awesome, dude! This fancy, rich, cute little dog fell in love with this dirty hobo dog, and like, they’re different but they find a lot in common, y’know?” Charlie rambles as he points to the screen and introduces each and every character to Mac. Mac nods along as if it’s the most interesting thing he’s ever heard, just for Charlie. After he explains the entire plot including everything that’s happened so far, the oven interrupts him with a beep and Mac is up and off his feet. 

“Pizza bagels are done, bro, I’m coming over with a full plate,” Mac calls out, making Charlie scoot over in front of the TV as Mac sits down and sets the place in between them. “First bite’s always gonna be hot as shit, so be careful.”

Charlie nods in understanding before picking one up and blowing on it, humming in appreciation as he picks up another. Tomato sauce drenched their fingers as they both burn the roof of their mouths profusely. After recovering not twenty seconds later, they scarf down the rest like they were starving. Mac pats his stomach and wipes the excess grease on his jeans while Charlie belches continuously. After the plate is wiped clean of all traces, naturally they look to what they have on them to smoke or huff, maybe sometimes even snort. After pulling out the pipe Charlie packed and prepared, they graciously share several deep hits of some good herb. Both satisfied and full, they lied on their backs as it started to hit them. Mac even felt an unexpected laugh bellow out of him, and Charlie finds that he doesn’t want to do anything else until he can taste every color on Mac’s face. 

It wasn’t long at all until they were giggling and touching inappropriately, like they’ve now come to get used to.

The first kiss of the night is magic, yet again leaving both of them a pathetic mess as they sit themselves up off the ground and get more physical. Mac keened as Charlie’s arms suddenly snuggled themselves around his neck as if it was a matter of life and death. He pulls off of his lips to kiss each of his cheeks before lifting the boy off of the floor as a playful gesture. Charlie squealed in his mouth as he wrapped both of his little legs around Mac’s back, practically binding himself to him. It only felt like he was carrying a bag of grapes, even removing one of his arms from holding him to comb through Charlie’s hair and sweetly petting his cheek a little bit. He groaned as Charlie surprises him by nipping at his lip and tugging enough to urge Mac on. If he were to be transparent about whatever him and Charlie were doing, one thing that’s shocked him is he wasn’t used to being so dumbstruck by something as vanilla as _kissing._

When they pulled away for a quick breath, still breathing each other in as they pant in each other’s mouths. 

“Y’know, I think it’s pretty fun carrying you and shit. Makes me think that now I don’t want you hitting your growth spurt ‘til we’re at least twenty-five,” Mac smiled as he adjusted the boy to sitting on the side of his hip, almost holding him like how he would hold a gigantic baby elephant. 

“Fuck off, dude. I’m gonna be six-four someday and you’re gonna be fuckin’ sorry,” Charlie weakly pointed and punched Mac’s arm before finally shutting up and going in for more. As much as Charlie hadn’t had any confidence whatsoever in his masculinity, he couldn’t help but relish in the feeling of getting manhandled by his best friend like this. Feeling weightless and protected in those arms, free to touch and squeeze at his buddy’s bare biceps as he wore another sleeveless tee.

They kissed and humped right there on the carpet of all places, eyes half-lidded and speech slow but unbothered. The drugs were definitely stripping layers away from their personalities and allowing them to fully say whatever came to mind. 

“Fuck, I think about doing this with you all the _fucking_ time now, Jesus Christ,” Mac whimpered while Charlie up and took better charge and hurried to switch to the top. He mouthed at Mac in places he knew were virgin-sensitive areas, from his collarbone and down his entire throat. 

“I do too,” Charlie confesses with a gasp, giving Mac a nice solid grind of his hips as he quietly worried in the back of his mind that he wouldn’t say anything about his package. 

“God, Charlie Boy,” he practically sobbed and arched into his groin. “You feel _amazing_ just like that.”

Charlie’s heart sped faster as his hips followed, feeling Mac’s hard dick bump against him, even feeling it twitch underneath his sweatpants. He grabbed one of Mac’s legs and sloppily lifted it into the air to find a closer, more stimulating angle to grind on. 

“Ohhh _fuck_ bro, that feels so good,” Mac couldn’t help but shout in Charlie’s face as he kept dry fucking him.

It never takes long to get Mac on the edge of an orgasm, just some solid making out and hip action and then he’s done for. Soon when their pace quickens and Charlie bends Mac’s leg further out in the air, Mac taps out.

“Charlie! _Fuck_ stop, stop, I’m really close,” he warned with panic through his panting. 

Charlie eases up on his advances with a smile and put his hands up in defense before thinking aloud. “Huh. It’s that easy to get you going, isn’t it?” he observed, fully stopping his hip movement as Mac sobs underneath him like he’s in pain instead of pleasure. A small stain even starts spreading through Mac’s pants as Charlie sat back, wondering what the hell just happened. 

“It’s _that_ sensitive?” Charlie laughs aloud before getting a pillow chucked at his face by Mac. 

“Goddammit Charlie, _yes_ it is that sensitive! I told you to knock it off or I was gonna blow in my pants, asshole!” he shouts, grabbing another couch pillow and covering his damp crotch with it. He can’t hide his mortified blush behind anything, and suffers through as Charlie giggles and claps his hands. After five whole minutes of just sitting and listening to Charlie’s stupid laughter, Mac raises one brow before he grabs the pipe from him.

“Dude, I think you’ve had enough ganja for tonight,” he shook his head as Charlie settles down only for a moment to suck on Mac’s neck like a vampire. 

As the pair remain wrapped up in their own bubble, hard footsteps come down the stairs.

“What the hell is goin’ on down here?” Mac’s mother shouts from the top of the steps as she squinted, a fresh cigarette on her lip, short hair’d bed head going in every direction. Her pissed, raspy voice stopped the party as Mac went frozen as to try and not be seen, as dumb as it may be.

Charlie couldn’t contain himself any longer and covers his mouth as to not allow any laughter out. Mac is up and rushing to help his mother.

“Um, hey Mom! We’re just — just watching a movie. He’s not spending the night or anything ‘cause it’s a school night and all, though. Do you need my help with anything?” Mac asks in the only good boy voice he can muster, now finally untangled from Charlie’s limbs on the floor. Mac’s mother takes note of his red, lazy eyes and the prominent smell of skunk all downstairs. Naturally, she put two and two together pretty quick, but couldn’t find it in her to give a fuck what her son is up to.

“I have to take a shit.” 

Charlie from the corner snorts and smothered his mouth as he hid his face into the carpet. Mac looked down at his feet before lowering his voice, as he didn’t want Charlie to hear how he takes care of his mom.

“Uh. Okay. Is your toilet upstairs working or not?”

“No. You fucking clogged it,” she grumbled as she took another puff of her cigarette and overall looked completely disinterested in everything going on.

Mac sighed and rubbed his face with his hand. “I didn’t _clog_ it, I just... Mom, you know I love you more than life itself, but please can you just do your business in this bathroom and go back to bed? I’ll take care of it in the morning!” he begs, gesturing to the restroom while thinking self deprecating things. Mac’s mother cursed under her breath some more and slowly makes it down the stairs, glaring at everything the entire way down. As she slams the bathroom door, Mac flinched as Charlie lets more of his unstoppable laughter flow free from his chest. 

“It’s not funny, asshole,” Mac argued with a shy smile, shoving Charlie over. 

“Oh, trust me, it’s _really_ funny,” he rebuttled, kicking his feet back before watching all the words of the credits from the film flood the screen, not comprehending a single word.

“Well, as long as you can agree that _your_ mom is a few cards shy of a full deck too, bitch,” he slam-dunked his insult before taking a celebratory hit of what little that was left in the pipe. Charlie crossed his arms and pouted while Mac blew the smoke out in his face. “She doesn’t let you pick out your own _cereal,_ bro! Are you gonna tell me I’m wrong?” 

Charlie immediately forgot whatever’s been said about his mom and Mac thinks he can see his cartoon puppy dog tail wagging. “Dude, did you actually get me my Cocoa Puffs?” 

“Hell yeah, bro. They’re in my room. Be right back,” he calls out, feeling with every step like he was walking on the moon instead of carpet floor; Charlie’s herb definitely felt legit. When Mac was back downstairs Charlie was just finishing up another hit of his own, coughing profusely while his face practically turned purple. Mac shook his head and looked down to give the ground a shit-eating grin. He gave a brief warning before tossing the unopened box downstairs. With a thud, it landed right by Charlie on the couch, and it wasn’t long before his Gollum-like hands snatched and ripped it open. 

“Mm, thank you so much, man. Means a lot,” Charlie mumbled with a mouth full of chocolate cereal, the boy hardly even stopping to chew. Mac briefly wondered if he should be worried that he gave him an entire bag of sugar, but lets it go. Not five minutes later though, Charlie’s full and well again before getting serious. “Uh, so I don’t really _get_ what’s going on... here? But uh, I’m digging it so far. And I know you like, used to beat off with Dennis or whatever, but I know he doesn’t click like we click. I’m not worried so much about that any more.” 

The room finally seems to be quiet and time starts to really sit still, and Mac’s heart goes off like a fucking grenade. He doesn’t respond in fear of saying something he’ll come to regret later when he’s not high as a kite. Charlie takes the queue as a hint to keep going. 

“And the Cocoa Puffs, man oh man! You didn’t have to get me those, but you did. I uh, I really appreciate those kinds of things coming from you,” he scratched his belly as his eyes went nowhere besides the ground. 

Mac still felt uncontrollably shy, but he can’t not say anything back to a thing like that. So he says what comes back to his brain, from what he promised him last Saturday in almost the same circumstance. 

“Anything for you.” 

Charlie nods and gets pink all over his neck and cheeks. They both let that hang in the air for a while. Maybe Mac found that words were just stupid sounds that come out of people’s mouths all the time, that they don’t ultimately have any meaning or truth behind them. The truth is written in what he does. After thinking ridiculously fucking hard about it, he takes Charlie’s hand in his own and laces their fingers together, all to send him the message that he’s here, he’ll always be, and that he truly wanted to be. 

The scene selection of _Lady and the Tramp_ shines on Mac’s VCR, illuminating the dark after both boys fall asleep high out of their minds, entangled in each and every limb together again like it was a matter of life and death. They both snore in peace, Mac getting balled up into becoming the little spoon of the two. Mac’s mother finally left the toilet after her forty-five minutes in there, still mumbling to herself with a cigarette and not bothering to even look at her son cuddling with another man.

—

“Dude, wake up.”

In Mac’s dream, he hears that distinctive sound of Charlie whispering in his ear, trying his best to be gentle but fucking up anyways.

“Maaaac. Wakey wakey eggs and bakey,” he whistles a tune before smoothing his hand on Mac’s stomach, lightly rubbing. Mac can’t help himself but moan out load while he’s still in his sleep, reveling in the touch and bucking into it. What finally does it for him is the abrupt shouting of ” _MAC, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD_ ” right in his ears. 

“Fuck, man! I’m up, I’m up, just _shut up,_ ” Mac whimpered, blindly grabbing at Charlie’s face as he turned his head the other way to close his heavy eyes again. 

“It’s two-thirty, man,” Charlie says with a yawn, standing up off the ground to take his pipe and his cereal. 

“Son of a bitch. Okay, fine. I’ll drive you home. Just gimme, gimme like five more minutes of some shut eye, then we’ll be out the door—“

“C’mon Mac, up and at ‘em. Easy does it. There you go,” Charlie ignored all of Mac’s whining as he helped him up and let him lean on his shoulder. “You’re good to drive?”

“Yeah. I just don’t want to.”

“I don’t wanna go either, bud, but my mom’s gonna tear me a new one—“

“And not let you get your favorite snacks and cereals, blah blah blah, I get it. Just wish you’d sleep over instead,” Mac grumbled as he fetched his keys and followed Charlie out the door. Somewhat unconsciously, Mac’s arm finds it’s way over Charlie’s back as they step out into the night, sorta like protecting him from any harm that’ll come their way. 

As they both get into his vehicle, they both nearly freeze up at how ice cold the seats were on their backs. Mac quickly kicks the heat all the way up, blowing hot breath in his and Charlie’s hands. When they finally start driving down the road away from the McDonald household, the boy in the passenger’s seat idly looks up at Mac in all his adorably tired glory. His hair stood up all messy kinda like his mom’s, and there were sleep marks tattooing his bare arms. Charlie kinda wished he could grab somebody’s Polaroid camera to take the memory and keep it for a long time. 

Mac notices how quiet Charlie was being, and deciding to be nosy about it, he asks what’s up. 

“Whatcha thinking about over there, Charlie?” 

He thinks for a moment before deciding it might be too weird or too much, and gives him a lighthearted shrug. Mac can’t help but feel a smidge of disappointment that he didn’t say anything about tonight or how he feels. He decides on tucking that useless insecurity away and start fresh with a different conversation starter when they stop at a red light. 

“Um, what I wanted to say to you when you were like, opening your soul and being honest to me and shit—“

“Yeah,” Charlie agreed with a hopeful impatience. 

“And I mean I actually tried saying it, but I was so high it felt nearly impossible - I swear to God what we smoked tonight was crack, bro,” Mac stalled with more comic relief, humor being his main go-to whenever he felt somewhat uncomfortable. “Anyway, uh. I’m trying to say that I’m in _this,_ ” Mac gestures to what little space is between them. “for the long haul. I’m not like gonna be pressuring you to take your clothes off, or to take _my_ clothes off. We don’t have to be doing that right away to show how... how much we like each other. Um, I really like how we are.” 

Charlie felt like melting in his seat, and it wasn’t because Mac cranked up the temperature. “Really? For _real?_ ”

Mac couldn’t help himself from chuckling at that, getting a better swing at talking about his feelings and other deep shit. “Fuck yeah. You’re telling me you don’t have any idea how much I think about this, _you,_ all the time just hanging out like this? I mean, sounds and feels kinda crazy. Nuts. Shit is bananas, even, but I know you. You’re _much_ weirder and funnier than any one of the boring chicks I’ve banged or ever even talked to,” he confessed, intentionally taking one more turn than he was supposed to. Charlie doesn’t notice a thing, wrapped up in his own loud thoughts as he grows silent.

“It’s ah, that was supposed to be a compliment but now I’m getting the vibe that it sounded not so great,” Mac gulped, now kind of praying that someone would come out from the creepy bushes and punch actual sense into him. He pulls over and puts the car in park before continuing. “It’s not like I meant to say that liking you is weird or anything, or that I’m comparing you to chicks and stuff, it’s —“

Charlie takes a hold of his shoulders with both hands and gently shakes them as if it’ll snap him out of it. “Stop, bro. We’re cool, it’s all cool,” he assured, soothing Mac from how tense he’d became in seconds. Usually Charlie was the one on the receiving end of this kind of comfort, but it felt nice to be giving it for a change.

Mac hasn’t ever been great at identifying what any of his feelings even mean, and the even bigger challenge was actually voicing them out loud to somebody. He gave up after trying to apologize again and getting cradled instead. He can’t come up with anything else on the spot, other than: 

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, finding himself able to feel how bad he wanted it, and then vocalizing it. 

“Yeah, course,” Charlie complied with a softer murmur, already leaning in as Mac enveloped him in his arms. Their kiss was innocent, turning their heads at different angles to watch out for smashing their noses together. Mac pulled away and gave him one last warm goodbye peck on the lips, saving that feeling to last him the lonely drive home. 

Charlie undoes his seatbelt, still practically drooling from having Mac’s lips on him, now just barely out of his reach. He really felt like kissing him again.

“See you at school. And uh, Potnick’s.”

“Don’t forget your cereal, Charlie Boy,” he reminded like a douche and a tease, handing the box of sugar cereal over before pulling it away right as he went to grab for it. Mac pulled his face closer and met his lips, circling his tongue with his like the complete opposite of their kiss before. 

“You looked like you needed it,” Mac whispered, now happy tasting Charlie on his tongue and seeing his little face turn even more red. As the smaller boy exits the vehicle, cereal box tucked under his arm, Mac looks out to make sure he gets inside safely, and enjoying the view along the way. 

“Hate to see you leave, but _love_ to watch you go.” Mac muttered with a grin to no one but himself, glancing at Charlie’s ass one last time before shifting gears back to drive. He kept his eye on the Kelly house in his rearview mirror for quite some time, then after it goes out of sight he keeps his eyes on the road, thinking. 

Mac knew Charlie didn’t have any business being in his imagination the entire car ride home; especially not after _just_ dropping him off. When he made it back to his driveway, he found himself grinning like a freak down at the steering wheel. Once he’d snapped himself out of it and the moment was gone, Mac snuck back into his bedroom wondering how he even made it home alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter is hopefully when stuff starts! I’m also thinking it’ll be in Charlie’s point of view. let me know I wanna know what ur thinking dudes !
> 
> also I can’t imagine Charlie watching Disney movies and not write about it I’m sorry:|


	4. charlie kelly in the sky of diamonds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for coming back to read more chapters!!!! leave any comments about anything, I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.
> 
> major TWs: charlie getting molested (uncle Jack plays a big part in this chapter) and charlie menstruating, so the word ‘blood’ is in there a couple times. bonnie mentions her abortion.
> 
> this is supposed to be a little angsty, since it’s Charlie’s perspective and he isn’t exactly living the easiest life in the world. anyway! sorry for the wait, I kept scrapping so many ideas. enjoy!!:)

Charlie had understood from a very young age that his personality wasn’t exactly meant for everybody.

When he raced back home tracking mud inside with a dead, very smothered bird stuffed in his backpack after his first day of preschool, Bonnie got a sneak peek of just how fucking odd to the core her kid _really_ is. Throwing rocks at all of their cats she could’ve excused as a silly way of letting out aggression; but by age nine, Charlie surprises her yet again. Charlie had always been the child that was full of surprises. 

She got home from work an hour later than usual, stumbling when she finds Charlie grinning ear to ear, staring manically in the mirror of her bathroom. In his stubborn grasp was a buzzer getting dragged up and down on his scalp, shaving his entire head short enough to expose spots of skin in certain places. The floor was littered with copious amounts of all his long, old, dark hair. She thought she vacuumed all of it, but Charlie ended up keeping a chunk and gluing it to his chest some nights in private. 

Maybe she wasn’t capable of understanding her son, but what she could do was respect his choice to never grow his hair as long as it had been again. By the time strangers at school started referring to Charlie as a boy, he’d started calling himself one too. 

It wasn’t difficult back in the eighties to pass for any old boy next door, with his plain jeans and t-shirt outfits paired with his buzz cut. Luckily Charlie’s bad hygiene also happened to fit the dumb, immature male archetype. He was confident enough to start joining Mac in the boy’s restrooms at school, and nobody gave a shit about where Charlie went to piss (as long as it was at least in a toilet somewhere). When him and Mac got the piss and shit kicked out of them because Mac rat their drug dealing business out, Charlie was relieved when not one of them suspected they were kicking him in the vagina and not in the balls. 

When the nineties came, camouflaging his body wasn’t as easy as it used to be. His chest grew to B cups, and it became this special chore to constantly hide them or finding some way to tape them flat in the summer. He bleeds through the bedsheets and all his decent pairs of baggy jeans every other month. He watches action films that fill him to the brim with envy as the masculine, beard-wearing protagonist saves the day and gets the girl and gets _approval._

While he tries to shove it down and ignore everything going on inside of him, he’s pretending to laugh with Mac as they watch _Ace Ventura: Pet Detective._ Ace violently cried and heaved while lying naked in the bathtub on screen, having just discovered that he’d kissed a transgender woman. Charlie’s mind pondered back and forth about how someone could easily react the same way after kissing him. Once they find out that he doesn’t have what they thought he’d have and leave. Or better yet, sobbing and throwing up in the bathtub after burning all their clothes.

As if Charlie wasn’t miserable enough, his Uncle Jack had started coming up to his room at night. Always sitting on his hands to hide them while speaking in a softer voice. 

During his early visits, he’d ask Charlie what he wanted for his birthday or next Christmas. He pulled his tiny hands from under his thighs with an awkward gesture at Charlie’s chest, asking if he’d want a bra as one of his presents. The visits became even more probing and frequent, sometimes the night ending with Charlie in his bed curled up with quiet tears. He’d force himself to swallow any of the vomit that threatened to surface, roughly scrubbing at his puffy eyes. More often than not he finds himself thinking of the time his mom had confessed to Charlie that he’d survived an attempted abortion. Whenever he thinks about that he pathetically wishes that the doctors just tried harder. 

Everything Uncle Jack always said about his body had been Charlie’s wake up call that he wasn’t hiding it good enough. No matter what he did to poison himself, or hide under countless layers, or taking puffs of Mac’s cigarettes to get a better rasp in his voice; there was nothing else he could’ve done. He could drink as much bleach or any other lemon-flavored cleaning product that he wanted, it wasn’t making anything go away. His Uncle Jack still visits him at night and takes advantage of every precious, vulnerable part of Charlie and squashing it.

Charlie had been steadily losing his sense of self bit by bit throughout the years; enduring whatever Uncle Jack wanted to do to him late at night, or getting dared to swallow a Daddy Long Leg with mouthfuls of dirt by assholes a grade above him. Not to mention Dennis slowly but surely stealing Mac away from him since the gang started high school together. 

Charlie barely gets through his bizarre freshman year, huffing as much glue or guzzling down as much beer as he could along the way. He’d gotten desperate enough to prove to himself that he was masculine as fuck and started stuffing bundles of socks down his pants. It made it look like he’d started packing something pretty _major_ below the belt since last summer. If a new element to his image, like said fake sock bulge, makes Charlie happy enough to grin whenever he stood in front of a full body mirror, then it worked for him.

Looking at the only positive from that year, he’d found enough courage to share his secret with Sweet Dee. One out of his laundry list of secrets. As much as she bitched and squawked at Charlie about nearly his entire personality and overall appearance, she was surprisingly warm and understanding. Not acting nice enough to cause suspicion though, establishing the no-feelings boundary by punching his arm, lightening the mood once again. 

After that, neither Charlie nor Dee would blink an eye when he crawled up to her window on a school night; dressed head to toe in his more feminine pajamas, which included purple bottoms and a tank top, clearly showing a dainty pink bra underneath. Charlie was sometimes much too foolish with trusting people in many circumstances, but he felt safe with her seeing him this way.

As far as letting Mac take his shirt or his pants off whenever he comes over, that’s definitely gonna be getting Charlie into some dangerous territory. 

This last Saturday at Mac’s was liberating for Charlie, to say the least. To say the _most,_ last Saturday blew Charlie’s fucking mind, body, and spirit. 

Charlie is wide awake and smiling in bed, the same night Mac dropped him off at two-thirty in the morning. It’s three-fifty now, and Charlie licked his lips at the persistent thought of Mac and his hands. They _aren’t_ small; they’re strong and cautious, and gentle too. Charlie trusts his hands. His core starts to throb the more he imagines Mac doing anything he wanted to him. If he wasn’t such a chicken shit he’d come out to the gang, take his clothes off for Mac and make him cum again, but this time _not_ in his pants. 

Charlie gulped as he started to concentrate, yanking his boxers down with absolutely zero grace before they finally stay at his ankles. His fingers find their way to the weak spot under his clit, rubbing in light circles before the tips of his fingers start getting wet when they move back and forth. He turns his head to the side, his cheek lazily hitting the pillow. An exasperated gasp leaves his lips as he partially eases his middle finger inside. He couldn’t fit too much in before it felt like his finger was stuck and insides full, but he could picture it being Mac’s cock instead; which was significantly hotter and bigger without a doubt. 

“ _You’re already so good at it though, Charlie Boy,”_ Mac had said the following Monday, grabbing his ass and kissing him all over. He speeds up his momentum while he feels the gush start gathering in his cunt. He tries holding back his whimper but is unsuccessful, whispering Mac’s name while he can help it. 

“ _God, Charlie Boy,_ ” he practically sobbed and arched into his groin. “ _You feel amazing just like that._ ” 

Charlie Boy. That’s what Mac always calls him when he’s so turned on he nearly sweeps right off his own feet. Forget that Mac thought he was grinding on dick, but actually on a bunch of old socks stuffed down his pants. Forget that Mac may not be so into him after all when he nuts up and tells him. Instead, Charlie remembers how goddamn _insatiable_ Mac had been in that moment, like nothing else could get even _close_ to meaning as much as this did in the whole wide world. Like it was just the two of them, and everything that wasn’t was just background noise. 

He ground his clit down his palm, finding the dead-on most satisfying pressure while he squeezes his eyes shut. With his other shaky hand, he fiddled with his sweatshirt before grasping his breast underneath, paying it some good, soft attention. As much as he hated his tits and spent all his time trying to hide them, he’ll admit that playing with them when he was alone felt relaxing. Just as he started riding his high and nearly getting his boxers soaked in the process, a pair of daunting, familiar footsteps made their way closer to his door. 

Charlie hasn’t ever moved quicker in his life, nervously tugging his boxers back on with fast sharp movements, pulling his sweatshirt down. On instinct, his eyes close shut to pretend he’s not awake. Like a mummy, he stayed on his back while attempting to slow his breathing for believability. The door gets a quick warning knock or two before it’s sprung open. Charlie’s heart is barely taking it, bumping hard in his ears as he pretends to casually wrap his arms around his breasts in a deep sleep. After all, he’s still recovering from his _stupid_ almost-orgasm. And everything Mac has done to him this week.

“Charlie, Charlie,” Uncle Jack says, shaking him on his shoulder to wake him up. When he opens his eyes, he’s startled but not really surprised to see his uncle staring down at him on the side of his bed. His mustache is still just as porny and creepy as it always had been, eyes doing the same weird, lingering habits on him and his body. 

“What do you want now, Uncle Jack?!” Charlie whined as he shoved the man off of his shoulder. 

“Nothing, Charlie. Nothing at all. You were just making noises in your sleep, and I had to check in and make sure my little guy was doing alright,” he spoke with an obvious forced tenderness, awkwardly patting his nephew’s thigh over his blanket. 

Charlie scoffed and sighed, turning to the side away from his uncle before speaking up when he felt sure he could. He hopes his uncle doesn’t bring up the fact that his eighteenth birthday is coming soon.

“I’m fine. Now leave my room, please? I’m not up for... your _whatever_ tonight, okay, and my stomach hurts, so just leave me alone. Goodbye.” 

Uncle Jack scratched the back un-bald part of his head, still staring like he’s contemplating what twisted question to throw at Charlie this time. The teenager refused to get felt up tonight, raising his voice and giving him a good shove off of his bed. 

“I said _piss off_ dude! Get the hell outta here!” he tried again, this time with more fire in his gut. Uncle Jack held up his hands as if to show him he didn’t mean any harm, before he looks down at them, sighs and puts them in his pockets. He was always self conscious about the size of them for some reason Charlie’s brain couldn’t even begin to make up. 

“Charlie, it’s alright! Don’t panic, Charlie. You remember when we’d wrestle back in the day? Before your body started to change—“

“Oh my God _dude,_ that is so _gross_ —“ Charlie furrowed his brows, closing his eyes while plugging his nose as if someone in the room ripped ass. 

“Well, it is _true,_ ” Uncle Jack says, continuing on. “And your best pal would come over and do it with you too — what was his name again, Charlie? Mick? Is your friend named Mick?”

“It’s Mac, Uncle Jack. My friend’s name is Mac. Now if you wouldn’t mind,” he points to the door as an impatient gesture. His uncle looks to the door and then back at his nephew, swallowing with wide eyes before saying his creepy version of a goodnight.

“Sweet dreams, Charlie.” 

The teenager huffed as he tossed and turned for another five minutes before finally finding a semi-comfortable position. He clutched the pillow tighter in his grasp under his head, forcing his eyes closed and trying to think about anything other than small, unwelcome hands. 

-

Friday had finally came, ending Mac and Charlie’s rollercoaster of a week. 

Charlie was grouchy from the moment he woke up, a wet string of drool from his open mouth landing on his pillow. He grunts and spits it out automatically, barely realizing what was happening while he did it and making a bigger mess. He scratched his belly and combed his hands through his unwashed hair as he trudged to the bathroom for a morning piss. When he casually looked down and saw the entire toilet bowl now filled with blood, he wonders what he did in a past life that was so bad that now he has to fucking deal with this. 

With an exhausted sigh, Charlie cringed while closing his eyes and starting to wipe most it off with balled up toilet paper. He ripped off ten extra squares to fold in half and lazily stuff in his pants to soak some more of it up. Whenever the Bad Time would come around, he couldn’t do his fake sock bulge for the whole week unless he wanted to make a huge mess. Charlie feels his shiny eyes start begging to let some of his unshed tears out, but anger swiftly replaces it. After flushing the bloody mess from the toilet he kicks the side of the sink, thinking that maybe something great will come out of it for a change. 

With his stomach in pain and a reminder of Potnick’s party tonight with the gang, Charlie lacked most of the energy he normally retained for keeping his shit together. To think he was looking forward to Friday all week, and for it to start out as the shit-show that it is. 

He doesn’t bother changing out of any clothes, doing the bare minimum of putting on a pair of pants and his gift from Mac, the tacky ski vest. It was only recently that he started brushing his teeth every morning, before smearing a thick layer of chapstick on his lips. If Charlie got backed into a corner to be honest about it, the routine with his oral hygiene started solely for the purpose of kissing Mac. 

It was challenging to get around his Uncle Jack without somehow being acknowledged or seen. He thought he was in the clear, nearly ready at the door with his backpack thrown over his shoulder, and a piece of burnt toast resting in his mouth like a chew toy. The footsteps are always what he first hears and reacts to, hearing each creek of his Uncle Jack’s steps as he made his way down the stairs. Charlie looks up absentmindedly and immediately regrets it, finding his uncle treading lightly while waving slowly at him. 

Charlie did what any noble man would do, and screams for his mother. 

“Mom, what in _fuck_ is taking so long? Hurry the shit up already!” 

“Alright, sweetie! I’m coming with more toast and orange juice,” Bonnie calls out from the kitchen in her chipper, house-mom attire. Charlie looked to the stairs again from the front door, happy to find Uncle Jack’s absence. He found himself only having temporarily feelings of relief when he sees an empty staircase. It’s probably because it’s a guarantee that Uncle Jack’s visits were always gonna be a recycled problem for him again later. 

-

A light coat of frost sticks to the windows, entertaining Charlie with its texture for the thirty seconds it took to turn the car on and twist the keys in the ignition. Both of the Kelly’s don’t bother with an unnecessary social exchange, that being one of Charlie’s worst nightmares. The blaring sun had been blinding Charlie in the eyes, making his day feel already that much more fucking endless with the personal torture. The radio played something by Alanis Morissette while Charlie started chewing on one of his fingernails. 

“So you came home really late last night, isn’t that right Charlie?” Bonnie says, breaking the silence of their car ride. She occasionally watched her son sit wrong while simultaneously trying to prop his feet up out of the corner of her eye. 

“Yeah Ma, I did. It happened. So what,” he muttered without looking away from the window, a strong attitude on his tongue. 

At a red light, she turns over to him and puts her hand on his thigh. “Sweetie, you know you can always tell me what’s the matter with you.”

Charlie was quick and harsh with his recoil from her hand, bending his knees to close them up on his chest. The bottoms of his shoes got mud on his seat as he continued holding himself. 

“God, don’t _touch_ me anywhere! I don’t like it! I don’t like _any_ of it!” he thrashed around like a fish out of water, already bringing his volume up to a ten while Bonnie had trouble paying attention to the road from his sudden outburst. She gets a better grip on the wheel after getting honked at by a car in the lane right by them. 

She was still just as clueless about how to take proper care of her son now as she was when he wasn’t even walking by himself yet. Sometimes he needed to be held, touched; other times if she laid a finger on him he’d flinch like he’d gotten burned. Bonnie could still remember what the waiting room of the cheap abortion clinic looked like, and what it felt like to walk out and think she’d gotten rid of Charlie. He’s always required more attention than she was equipped to handle on her own.

He’d calmed down somewhat after concentrating on the leftover frost on the window again. The mud from the seat had smeared on the back of his jeans as he unfolded his legs from the seat. Charlie could feel it on his bottom and chose not to do anything about it, thinking it’ll help mask the blood that’ll probably stain his clothes later anyway. 

“Mom, I have s-something to say to you,” Charlie caught his breath, taking a moment for his leftover panic to settle down. “Uncle Jack, he -“

Bonnie is fast to cover her brother’s tracks, shaking her head with an unnatural smile and fixating in the road ahead. “He doesn’t mean any harm, Charlie. He loves you very much, and he tells me all the time how happy he is to be around and watch you grow up—“

Charlie shivered at his mom’s word choice, trying to swallow back the intensity of actually speaking up about something so bothersome. “You don’t understand, he - he comes to my room at night.” 

Bonnie sounded like whatever she was hearing with her own two ears was preposterous. “Your Uncle Jack is a very, very generous man. He takes such good care of us, Charlie. You know he’s getting me a new toaster for my birthday? Ours is just so darn old, it doesn’t—“

“It’s a _toaster,_ Mom! And he’s taking away the entire element of surprise - honestly the _funnest_ part about getting a fucking gift in the first place - by telling you what he’s gonna get!” Charlie screamed again, clenching both his fists at his sides, shamelessly cussing at his mother. 

“You know how I feel about that awful language,” Bonnie frowned. 

Charlie felt like pulling his hair for the mere fact being that he’s related to this woman. “Jesus Christ. I can’t believe you’re mad about my swear words and _toast,_ after I just told you that Uncle Jack... he...” the boy trails off, feeling his bottom lip start to shake without his permission. His stomach feels like it’s being wrapped in complicated knots. 

The Kelly’s make it to Charlie’s high school without anything left to say to one another. 

Charlie almost fell from the car as he scurried to get out, not sparing his mom any farewells. He makes it in time for fifteen minutes to spare before his first class starts. The fifteen minutes get spent sitting on the toilet of a stall, head in his hands. As he collected all of the toilet paper there was left, he wondered what else the universe had in store for feeding off more of Charlie’s misery.

-

School and all of the authority that comes with it never really rubbed Charlie the right way. It also happed to be a mutual misunderstanding. 

He gets through his patronizing classes by drawing dicks on the desks with the goth girl that sits by him in a couple classes. She doesn’t talk, but she’s always in detention for probably some odd, undisclosed reason. He found that he kinda liked people who didn’t constantly bombard him with so much information all the time. Since she didn’t talk, he knew he’d never have to expect any of that from her. 

Charlie falls asleep in the other two classes he has before lunch. 

The gang was meandering the halls without any destination in particular, casually chatting about what they’re gonna do, or _who_ they’re gonna do at Potnick’s. Dee was horny for Bill Ponderosa, Dennis with his eyes on Bill’s sister Maureen. Mac was casually brushing Charlie’s shoulders with his arm once in a while as they walked. He really could’ve used a kiss, but he wasn’t too keen on having to ask for it especially in a place that’s not private. 

“So _Charles,_ you planning on getting laid tonight by any beautiful women?” Dennis asked with a poke at his shoulder. Charlie moved his shoulder to shake his hand off. Mac snapped his head from Dennis to Charlie like he had whiplash, not taking his eyes off of him.

He scratched the back of his neck, shrugging. “Nah man, just plan on getting stupid drunk and leaving it at that. _Was_ planning on doing tequila shots with Dee, but she wants to go bang and whore around, so.” 

“You know what, Charlie? At _least_ I get laid. You probably just sit around eating pizza bagels and jerking off to satisfy all your needs,” Dee spat. Dennis laughed at the diss, both twins unaware of the look Charlie and Mac had shared. Mac was grinning like the Grinch cartoon, and Charlie’s face held the same heat as the sun. 

As they settled down to a spot right by the fence, already some school faculty starts giving them extra looks as if they’re dumb enough to hop it right in front of them. As if they haven’t already been there and done that their Freshman year. Dennis and Mac haven’t stopped cracking jokes about Sweet Dee in all her slutty, lonely, miserable bird-glory. Charlie starts to feel his stomach eat at the rest of his insides, stricken with more cramps and blood probably on its way to dripping down his inner thigh. If he can ditch the gang without questions, he’ll have enough time to take another bloody shit (literally), then head to the nurse for his excruciating stomach.

“Ah, I’ll catch you guys later! I have to - change my... my socks real quick! Getting dirty in my shoes and stuff. Anyway. See ya!” Charlie called out, awkwardly half-jogging with self deprecation over to the restroom. He hears Mac’s voice in the distance call out his name, running over to where Charlie was trying to swiftly escape. Normally it excites the shit out of him to hear from Mac, but now, pretty much nothing else could have sounded worse. 

“Charlie, man! Wait up!”

“Fuck this,” he mutters to himself, pressing his fist into his forehead before turning around. “Hey, dude! What’s up?”

Mac looked a little serious, still out of breath from the jog as he eyed Charlie up and down, sniffing what was going on like a dog. “Yeah, Charlie, what _is_ up?” 

“I kinda asked you first.” 

“Knock it off, bro,” Mac shook his head, now flashing his flirty grin, pulling a pack of gum out of his pocket and unwrapping a silver stick. “You want a piece? Fresh breath is really great for kissing your _hot_ stud of a beefy, sexy boy-toy,” he offers, pretending to be part of an advertisement. With a swift look behind him to see if the gang was watching them, he leans in and steals a nice five second kiss. Mac tried to shove the piece of gum into Charlie’s mouth during, but instead of doing that, he spits it out leaving it on the ground for nobody to enjoy. 

Mac looked down at the dirty wad of hardly chewed bubble gum now on the ground, then back at Charlie. “Thanks for wasting my piece of gum, asshole!” 

“Jesus, you cannot _spit_ that _cow cud_ in my mouth and have me just keep chewing it for you! Get a brain, bro!” Charlie shouts, waving his hands at him in between his words. “I can’t take this. I _have_ to take a dump, dude. It’s really - I can’t hold it. I’ll see you in ten!” 

Mac looked at his calculator watch before jogging over to him and the unoccupied restrooms. “Lunch is ending in, like, three minutes, bozo. I’m coming with you.” 

”Just stand outside and yell whatever you wanna say, cause you’re not coming in with me you big fat weirdo,” Charlie teases, shoving Mac before hauling his ass into a stall. Mac was still recovering from getting unexpectedly shoved, grinning before standing like he’s some bodyguard for the bathrooms. 

Charlie breathed a heavy sigh of relief after scrambling to yank his jeans and boxers down, popping a squat on the toilet. He heard Mac’s voice outside but nothing he was saying had even registered, busy trying to decipher the graffiti on the walls. He sees what he thinks to be initials with hearts being crossed out and always wonders what the story is behind each one. He also notices some pictures of dicks with jizz coming out, but those weren’t in as great of detail as the goth chick’s drawings are. 

“...Anyway. What thoughts you got to say about that, Charlie Boy?” Mac shouts from outside, the boy on the toilet completely forgetting he was actually being talked to. 

“Huh?” 

“You’re - you didn’t hear everything I just said?” 

” _What?_ ” Charlie had to yell again. 

“Forget this, I’m coming in!” he warned, making his way over to the closed stall. “How you doin’, man? Lunch is ending like, now, pretty much. Are you still pooping?”

Charlie looked down to still see a mess. “Uh. Yeah, it’s still coming.” 

“That’s so weird, cause it doesn’t even smell much like shit in here,” Mac observes, chuckling after he’d entered the dingy restrooms. “But dude, I was like totally speaking from the heart. You’re telling me you heard _nothing?”_ he whined. 

Charlie pulled a face. “No, man, couldn’t hear any of it from here. Cliff notes it for me?” 

“God dammit! Okay, fine, fine, let me think,” he squeezed his eyes shut, scratching his head before remembering whatever he’d just finished yelling to himself outside. “I was saying that, like, since you don’t feel well or are like having another one of your Bad Times and just wanna be alone; you don’t have to come to that party tonight, seriously. I’ll cover for you. There was more stuff I squeezed in, but the rest really wasn’t important,” Mac swallowed before hearing Charlie curse in the stall. “What? What’s up?”

“There’s no more toilet paper left in this roll, dude! I am so fucked.”

“That’s an easy fix, bro! Here. I gotcha,” Mac rushed to the stall next door, quickly rolling out nearly the entire roll into his palm. Charlie smiled like a kid on Christmas when Mac’s hand appeared under the stall, and he feels bad that he’s probably squatting on the dirty tiles. He uses every square that Mac had given him, somewhat feeling better below the belt. He flushed the toilet with a kick before opening the door to see Mac smiling with his arms open, presumably for a hug. His smile gets wiped off his face before rejecting Charlie’s hug after he’d seen his dirty pants looking down. “Jesus, why the hell are you covered in blood and dirt?” 

Charlie’s complexion got about ten shades paler, not sure how to even begin answering. 

“I’m taking you to the nurse, okay. Against your will or not, you’re grabbing my hand and we’re going,” Mac held his hand out, relieved when Charlie doesn’t put up a fight, taking the hand that was offered and limping out of the bathrooms. “Jesus. Should I just carry you there?” 

Charlie just grunts, looking around. “Where’s everybody at?”

“Looks like lunch is over, everybody’s in class. You know, I don’t think I could even hear the bell. Maybe they’re finally listening to you, bro,” Mac winked, one hand going down to rub his friend’s tense shoulder. 

“My stomach hurts.” 

“I know, buddy,” he murmurs, looking down at his disastrous clothing. “Should I even ask what the hell you were up to, with the dirt and the blood?” 

Charlie leaned his head on his friend’s arm, briefly shutting his eyes and humming under his breath. He didn’t really feel like explaining to Mac that he got mud on his jeans from his shoes in the fetal position, some Alanis Morissette song in the background while he tried explaining to his own mother that his fucking uncle likes touching him at night. Or the horror movie-esque stains of blood coming from a place that certainly isn’t a dick, another thing which he hasn’t exactly mentioned to Mac yet.

He doesn’t go into any of it though, dumbing the story down to some dumpster dive he’d done. 

“Yeah, it’s a pretty weird story,” Charlie shrugged, looking down before he continues. “Anyway, when we get there, let’s say I got a headache and steal a shit ton of Aspirin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> leave a comment about what you thought!! 
> 
> my tumblr is: dumbpunkass


	5. of rats and men

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> soooo sorry for the wait, but I’m from the US and the election stressed me out pretty good. and writing about these topics isn’t easy for me, but I’m writing this because I love it and I love the show:) 
> 
> major TWs: charlie and uncle Jack again (a reoccurring issue perhaps) and the same stuff as last time. transphobia and grooming.

During Mac and Charlie’s mediocre visit to what their school has to offer for a nurse, Mac suddenly got too chicken shit to pocket any Aspirin for Charlie like he’d wanted him to. The lady taking care of him couldn’t comprehend why some moody teenage boy would describe his symptoms of anguish as stomach cramps and nausea; that on top of the crusty blood stains sticking all over the back of his jeans. 

After finally solving the mystery by looking up his file, she thought she’d done him a solid by sneaking him a spare tampon. Though she failed to mention any basic instructions that would call for how and where he’s even supposed to stick the thing, Charlie still sort of appreciated her pitiful gesture. Growing up without pretty much any guidance whatsoever on things of this nature, Charlie blindly accepted it with a knowing, awkward nod. Slightly humiliated, he immediately stuffs the foreign wrapped up piece of cotton deep in his pocket and chose to cross that bridge when he gets to it. Kind of like what he does with everything else that goes and fucks up another never ending storm in his life.

When the school day was done and over with, Charlie trudged to the parking lot to look for Bonnie’s car in the parking lot with his arm still clutching his stomach. He debated on falling asleep on the toilet like he’d done before on his first day of the long, gory week ahead of him; but what he really needed was to lay his ass down in his own bed, even if sleeping on the school’s toilets was likely the cleaner option. 

Mac tried his best with cheering him up like he normally does whenever Charlie was in a funk, rubbing his shoulders and taking every opportunity to sneak a sloppy, eager kiss before their last class of the day. As favorable and therapeutic as touching or being even near Mac was for the boy, it didn’t magically grow him a dick to stop the endless bleeding between his legs or make his tits fall off his chest. Or somehow have his Uncle Jack get horribly struck by lightning and die at least before his eighteenth birthday, but more preferably before he arrived back home.

The ride home started out just as miserably tense as the entire ride to school had been. Bonnie _must_ have fully understood by now what her brother was doing to her son when the sun went down. By the looks of it, she wasn’t even gonna try to act like she was gonna lift a finger to stop it, much less acknowledge it. 

With the frightening realization that his own mother probably didn’t believe him, Charlie felt a familiar, washed up sense of emptiness and helplessness creep in while leaning his skull in the passenger’s window. He didn’t think of bothering her any further trying to convince her of the situation, his eyes staring out the window with depletion while Bonnie nods along to an unrecognizable jingle playing on the radio. As usual she was the typical, picture-perfect suburban mom; shoving anything away that disrupted this spotless, false mask she presented to the world. And to have her confused, fucked up son that she already _tried_ aborting sitting right next to her seemed to be jeopardizing everything about her idealized image. 

With a forced clear of his throat, he sneaks a glance to his mom again, rubbing his clammy fingers together in his lap. 

“Mom, I just wanna say—“

“Oh, sweet Charlie,” Bonnie shakes her head back and forth, her grip tighter on the steering wheel. She looked pained to say whatever she was about to say. “You don’t have to say anything. This morning was such a silly little fluke—I know you must be upset about your uncle still treating you like you’re a child, but from the bottom of our hearts, we adore you. You’re our angel sent from _Heaven,_ Charlie.”

Charlie sunk further into his seat, trying to keep his voice steady, not allowing himself to let his mother witness any of his internal suffering. “Uh, of course. Totally. And what I told you about... about Uncle Jack, um, just forget about it, ‘cause what I meant was that he comes to my room to... check on me too much. He wakes me up is all,” he murmured, now staring at his lap with uneasiness, twiddling his fingers to distract himself. He’s never been a good liar. 

Bonnie stuck her bottom lip out, her blue eyes turning from the road to meet his. It’s silent for a moment, and Charlie doesn’t know whether she can smell the bullshit he’s feeding her any better than the stench of the mess all over the back of his pants.

“You know what, Charlie? I’ll let him know how much it bothers you and tell him to stop doing it so late, okay? I don’t want anything or anyone to ever hurt my little boy,” she finally spoke up, briefly taking a hand off the wheel to reach over and touch him but abruptly stops herself. Charlie noticed this, and he wasn’t sure whether she backed off for his sake or her own. 

Charlie’s mouth gaped open like a fish once he actually processed what she was telling him she’d do, snapping his little head in Bonnie’s direction. “Really? _Shit,_ Mom, that would—that would mean the world to me! Seriously. You—you would _actually_ talk to him for me? Tell him to stop coming at night? Uh, checking in on me and stuff, I mean?” he’d screeched, wiggling his arms back and forth to celebrate, wondering if this was too easy and good to be true. Maybe Bonnie could’ve been used as a weapon against Uncle Jack all this time. After all, she was the only other adult in the house who could take charge of these things. 

He allows himself to dive further into his wishful thinking; imagining a world where he could sleep at night in his own room without dreading those footsteps and knocking on his bedroom door. In his fantasy world, Mac knew that Charlie was different too, and never punished him for it. So did the gang. 

Charlie couldn’t help his ignorant belief that this could’ve really meant all his torment was finally _over._ Everybody that deserved a happily ever after got one, and everybody that’s didn’t was granted rightful consequences.

“I sure will, my sweet Charlie. As long as you keep those big boy words to yourself. You _know_ how much those words hurt,” Bonnie replies, still as jolly as Santa Clause while she reprimanded him for his cursing. 

Without thinking about it, Charlie leans over and gives his mother the tightest hug he’s given her in years. Bonnie felt her heart soar, despite his yelling right in her eardrums and how he’d been preventing her from paying attention to the road while he engulfed her in his arms. Maybe he smelled like he hadn’t bathed himself in a while either, but she wouldn’t mind enduring any of that if it meant she could still get an honest to God _hug_ from her son once in a while. 

“No swear words, I promise! And I won’t bring home those dead pigeons anymore, either!” he laughed, pointing to her and nodding his head up and down fast enough for a potential headache. Once he’d pulled away, he scratched his nose and sat back in his seat normally for a change, taking a deep breath. “I uh... I love you, Mom. Thanks for doing that for me.” 

With Bonnie’s heart in her mouth, she wiped a stray tear that had drifted down her pale wrinkled cheek before saying what she always does. 

“I love you too, little Charlie.”

After Charlie had exited the vehicle, Bonnie got a good look at the newly stained car seat he’d just been sitting in. In her mind, she brushed it off as some accidental cut and forgot about it by the time they make it to the door.

-

Charlie wasn’t the least bit considerate by keeping any of his contagious excitement quiet when they’d arrived back home, skipping up the steps with glee up to his room. He swung his door open, keeping his eyes glued to the dirty spots of the carpet as he carelessly chucked his backpack somewhere off to the side. 

The rabid energy he’d been getting high off of since coming back home gets channeled straight into his dream book doodles. He dug underneath his mattress like a dog for a bone, finding his old, crumpled up dream journal he hid there. On the front of the spiral notebook was spelled out as best he could, _’Chrundlez Dreem Jernal,’_ along with some Nirvana and Pearl Jam stickers that he’d gotten from Mac stuck everywhere on the cover at random.

Charlie grinned and sat himself down on the carpet, swinging his feet around behind his head as he took a moment to flip through all the doodles he’d previously drawn in it. His happy dreams are always loud with vibrant colors and sloppy lines or shapes scattering throughout the page. 

His eyes linger on the one drawing from several nights ago where he’d dreamt of laying on Mac’s lap at the beach, sipping smoothies together eating cat food. Ones like those are the most pleasant to come across, as opposed to the nightmares he’s had about teachers or bullies, or Uncle Jack most of all. The sketches of his nightmares are more precise in detail and have sharper edges, lacking any color or life like all his other ones. Charlie made sure to skip over any of the particularly triggering nightmares he’s had, unwilling to revisit ones that remind him of small hands and ugly mustaches. 

Not waiting any longer to get started, he snatched his markers and crayons and got going on his latest vivid dream: hunting for goblins in an open, almost Garden of Eden-like field with the gang. He closed his eyes as he recalled the dream in greater detail, remembering how the sun looked like it had kissed Mac’s cheeks and made him nice and tan; or how the field was littered with dandy lions that looked almost like tiny little angels as they floated in the air. At one point, Charlie could remember Dennis’ head somehow morphing into one of the chubbier cats that would follow him home sometimes in real life. 

By the time one of Charlie’s colored pencils broke as he vigorously scribbled and dug it into the paper, he’d been about ninety percent done with his dream doodle anyway. As he got up from where he’d been lying on the floor on his stomach, he feels something long and skinny from his pants pocket poke him in his upper thigh. He dropped what he was doing and sifted through his pocket finding bottle caps, used tissue, Mac’s chapstick, and after sifting through all the other junk, he’d discovered what was jabbing his thigh.

The tampon from the nurse’s office.

With a mix of apprehension and curiosity, he pulls it out and holds it up right in front of his nose, examining it as if it were something he’d discovered from some alien planet. He instinctively looks to the closed door for reassured privacy before remembering that his mom was gonna talk to Uncle Jack about not doing that anymore. His nervous fingers haphazardly unwrap the product to see what he was working with. After thirty seconds of struggling to peel the paper open, he ends up just using his canines and chewing it off. 

The looks of the thing turn out to be pretty anticlimactic, nothing but a purple plastic applicator with a string attached to the bottom. Charlie didn’t totally understand how anybody would want to insert something like it _inside_ of themselves, but it would probably help prevent any more blood he’ll shed from dying all his good pairs of pants an ugly crimson red. 

With his mind finally made up about what he was going to try and do, he sauntered to one of his drawers to pull out one of his handy, travel-size mirrors. As he holds the circular mirror, he drags his zipper down along with his muddy, grotesque jeans down to his ankles. While he was busy maneuvering himself on the ground to get experimenting, his thumb had accidentally pushed the plastic, skinny part of the applicator, causing a ball of cotton to pop out. 

“Where are _you_ supposed to go?” he rhetorically asks the dry piece of cotton, squinting at it with judgement as if whoever invented this was the dumbest asshole on the planet. With a few lame attempts to spread his lower lips and somehow shove the dry wad of cotton way up inside, he comes out painfully unsuccessful. Emphasis on _painful._

For a moment he thinks about giving Sweet Dee a call to bug her for a bit, then _definitely_ yell in her ear until she gave in and explained to him how tampons are supposed to solve his dilemma. Before he could sit up and make himself decent first to get downstairs to their rotary dial, he stops in his tracks to listen to that unmistakable sound of steps coming near his room. Feeling shaken but optimistic, he calls out: 

“Mom, I’m a little busy in here. I’ll be down in a minute!”

But _of course,_ because any time stuff’s going pretty good for him, it always turns out to be temporary; Uncle Jack’s distinguishably smooth, predatory voice echoed through the hallway instead.

“Charlie it’s me, your old pal Uncle Jack. I’m coming in, kiddo,” he barely warns, already twisting the knob as the boy scrambled and flipped upside down on the floor trying to yank his pants back up. Uncle Jack’s wide, suddenly energetic eyes linger on Charlie’s nearly unclothed bottom half, his legs stuck out in the air practically on display presumably just for him. 

“Whatcha up to? Do you wanna play another round with your uncle?” he asked, voice low but exuberant as he took two harsh steps into his room, the door creaking as he closed it behind him. 

Charlie tried to swallow but his throat doesn’t let him. “Nothing, I’m... I was just changing then I fell,” he mutters with his chin down in submission. The lunch he’d ate started stirring in his stomach. He felt his uncle’s eyes get even more invasive and perverted as his hips reluctantly rose to finish pulling his pants back up. “Did Mom talk to you already? It’s really important that she did, so you could... could _stop_ doing this shit to me all the time,” he uttered, scratching his head and covering himself as best he could. 

“She sure did, Charlie. We had a nice long chat about how you don’t like that I come see you at night, so I came here to see my favorite nephew a little bit earlier instead,” he says, loosening his tie before getting down to his knees on the stained carpet directly in front of Charlie’s bent legs. As he got down, he sees the dream journal still flipped open to the page of his most recent drawing. Uncle Jack picks it up and starts examining it closer without permission. “These are so great, Charlie! You’re a real artist. Who are these green little guys? Are they your friends from school, Charlie?”

Charlie tried swallowing again, the tension in the room suffocating him as he rubbed his knees with his sweaty palms. “Uh, those are goblins. They’re not my friends. I just, just like to hunt them and stuff. More of a hobby, really,” he gives him a forced, wet smile, treading lightly as he reached for the book. “C-Can I have that back, maybe?”

Uncle Jack holds up his finger, the universal sign for ‘wait.’ Charlie’s heart thumped hard and rhythmic in his rib cage like a woodpecker. 

“Uncle Jack, I want that back now please.”

His uncle, completely shutting anything he has to say out, still invading his privacy as he looks through each and every page. “These are really impressive, Charlie. Some even look like me a little bit,” he observed, finally looking up from Charlie’s journal, taking a look at the shivering teenager on the ground that he’d intimidated into silence since he was only twelve years old. 

Charlie clenches his fists to his sides and breathes in, ready to scream his ear off. His use of volume was the only thing that seemed to be scare people off, and he’ll be damned if he wasn’t gonna utilize it. “I said to stop looking at those! They’re _mine,_ so fucking give it _back!_ Those aren’t for you to look at!” 

Uncle Jack flinched at Charlie’s rising temper, briefly plugging one of his ears and dropping the dream journal to the floor. As soon as it left his grasp, he rips it away and cradles it to his chest. Charlie’s demeanor flipped as easy and swift as turning on a light switch; going from a helpless, wounded, petrified animal to an infuriated teenage boy that’s had enough of getting spit on and stepped all over. 

“Ah, is that what I think it is? I thought you’ve been acting a little sour all day. Looks like it’s that time of the month again,” he says, pointing to the loose tampon laying on the floor that several minutes ago Charlie had been trying to figure out. He shakes his head and snaked it out of Uncle Jack’s grasp before he could even think of some creepy thing to do with it. 

“No. Periods are for girls, and I’m not a fucking _girl,_ alright!” 

“There’s no reason to be so hostile, kid. I’m here to _bond_ with you. We’ve had some good times, haven’t we?” he inquired softly, bringing a hand over to Charlie’s cheek, wiping what tears had leaked all down his jaw. 

The boy squeezed his eyes shut and cringed at the unwanted physical contact, hugging his journal tighter in his arms. His voice comes out raspy when he tries defending himself once again. “Don’t. Don’t do that, don’t touch me.”

“You always liked when I did, Charlie; we both used to love all our special hugs together,” he tries reasoning, having the balls to go in and try to touch his face again.

Charlie had finally had it.

” _NO!_ You fucking liked it, I always hated it! Don’t you understand? Does _anybody_ in this house have a fucking _clue_ of the shit they put me through—“

“We wouldn’t ever put you through things, Charlie! You’re our special boy, and we take great care of you. I mean, who else can say they have a niece as beautiful as you that’s liked dressing up as a cute little boy since he was only seven years old!?” Uncle Jack shouts back, laughing and shrugging his shoulders as if none of this was as big a deal as his nephew was making it out to be.

 _Years_ worth of all his rage and animosity, all his confusion and insecurity, all stuffed down to never be looked at or touched gets brought back from the dead.

Charlie stiffened before finally unleashing his whirlwind of hurt out in the open. 

“I—I fucking _hate_ you people! This... this place is a fucking Hell house! I hate you! I never even _wanted_ to be born, I spend every goddamn second of my life _wishing_ Mom just got rid of me when she had the chance! Fuck _you,_ and fuck _her_!” Charlie sobbed, kicking and screaming his way out of any so-called _’comfort’_ his Uncle Jack tries giving him. 

He keeps his dream journal tucked under his armpit for dear life as the veins on his temples start popping, his whole body nearly convulsing as he jumped down the entire flight of stairs. Blood drips down his jeans and some drops land on the floor as he scrubbed his cheeks, the tears tickling him and easily pouring more gasoline to his already overwhelming fire.

Bonnie sees him come down the stairs, dressed in her apron with a spatula in one hand. She was still smiling with all of that going on upstairs, not like that surprised anybody.

“Oh good, sweetie! You’re downstairs! Your friend Mac just came here to pick you up to go to a little party so you can spend some time playing with your friends!” Bonnie cups her caked cheeks. 

Charlie still felt dizzy with despair as his tired eyes take a look in the little corner of their kitchen, finding Mac seated, content as he sipped from a small teacup Bonnie had served to him. 

“Mac,” Charlie gasped, ignoring any of the bullshit or white noise that came from Bonnie’s mouth as he crosses the distance from the stairs to the kitchen, almost collapsing into Mac’s arms when he makes it. 

“Hey hey, buddy,” Mac catches him before any damage is done, his arms wrapping around his shoulders and tracing alleviating circles on his back. This, right here, was his only safety net from living in such a loud, unforgiving world. 

“Mrs. Kelly, I think I’ll take ‘em from here; the tea tasted bomb, but we gotta get goin’ if we don’t wanna miss the party,” Mac lies, seeing his friend’s need in getting away as far as possible and as soon as possible. His puppy-like concerned gaze stays focused on Charlie as he stands and keeps a tight hold on him, leading them both out the door. 

“Okay, Mac! It was so great to see you again, it’s been so many years since our sweet Charlie’s brought over a friend!” Bonnie pouts, pacing over to the front and opening the door for them.

When they make it as little as a step outside onto their tacky doormat, Charlie gasped to let the fresh air in his lungs and closed his dripping, tired eyes. Mac gets exceedingly disturbed over Charlie’s oddball behavior, eyeing him and keeping him close before Bonnie gives them one last bubbly farewell. As she shut the door, Mac recognizes Charlie’s Uncle Jack creep down the stairs after he’d been lingering right outside Charlie’s room. Their eyes briefly met before the door was closed and locked in front of his face.

Mac turns to Charlie and began his third degree. “Dear God, dude, are you okay? Did—did something happen back there?” 

Charlie bent over to put his hands on his own knees, catching up to his breath. Without any warning, the boy throws his journal to the ground and jumps to kick the front door, yelling at the top of his lungs.

“I take it back, you _bitch!_ I fucking _hate_ you! I never loved you, _I take it all back!_ ” he screamed, still kicking the closed door and stomping on the ground. 

“Woah, dude. Holy shit,” Mac widens his eyes, grabbing Charlie by his vest and picking up his dream journal from where it had been thrown to the ground, wiping off any excess mud that latched onto it. “Charlie, it’s okay! Breathe, man, breathe with me, see?” he imitates a deep inhale and exhale, encouraging Charlie to do it with him and cheering him on as he complied. 

As relatively simple as Mac thought the trick would be, it just made Charlie wind up for round two.

“You cocksucking _whore!_ I hate you! I can’t wait for you to fucking _die!_ ”

“Jesus Christ!”

A nearby neighbor opened their front door and shouts at them to shut the fuck up.

“No, _you_ shut the fuck up! You give him a second, let him have his moment!” Mac yelled back, pointing a threatening finger at the old hag. She rolled her eyes and reverted back to her own business. Charlie finally seemed to settle down after letting all of it out of him, clutching onto Mac, engraving marks into his skin with his fingernails. 

“Charlie, please man, just tell me what’s going on. I want to help, just let me understand. Please,” he lowered his voice, tilting the boy’s chin up and leaning forward, ready to give him a soothing kiss. Before he could get his lips on his, Charlie snaps his head back and bows down to the ground and promptly pukes the toast and cat food he ate that morning all over their placemat and his shoes. 

“Oh, good God, Charlie! Really, you gotta warn a guy before you do that, dude,” Mac pinches his nose and takes a step away, not letting Charlie out of his grasp even for a second. 

“That feels better,” Charlie muttered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, rubbing his stomach. He started breathing in and out like Mac had demonstrated. “Fuck. You got any glue I can uh, huff a little bit in your mom’s car?”

Mac furrows his brows, feeling like his friend is taking him along on a rollercoaster of weird shit. “I do _not_ think that that is a smart thing to be doing right now, man.”

“Yeah, but here’s the thing: I don’t really give a shit for what I’m supposed to be doing. Now do you have any or not?”

“Charlie—“

“I don’t _want_ bullshit lessons from anybody right now, Mac! Give me the glue that you keep in your mom’s car!” 

Mac sighed, reaching in his pocket to unlock the car, doing a walk of shame to the vehicle with Charlie not far behind. As they both get in, Mac tells him that there’s some toxic glue buried deep in the glovebox. As soon as Charlie gets his paws on it, he uncaps the lid and takes a long, good sniff. Immediately, the glue takes its affect, giving Charlie a nice lightheaded sensation and blurring everything in his vision a bit. 

“Better?” Mac treads lightly, approaching his friend in distress as he would a deer in the road. It was better to be patient with him, not demanding. When anybody told him what to do it just made everything worse.

“Yeah,” he answers after a moment of contemplating it, feeling like his head had been sent up to the clouds for a visit. Glue always takes the bad away from him and transforms it into something better. “We still going to Potnick’s?”

“If... if you really feel up for it, I guess,” he replies, starting up the car at least to get some heat going. “Look, I know you hate talking about the shit that bugs you, and trust me, I get it. But don’t think you could just, just practically pass out in my arms in there, come out and _yell_ shit to your mom like that, puke on your shoes then not talk about it. I only wanna help you, but I can’t if you’re not gonna let me,” he lowered his voice, turning his whole body towards him from the driver’s seat. Mac even felt his own anxiety start seeping in at whatever Charlie wasn’t telling him, worried that he was gonna stay in the dark about what kinds of things go on in that house. 

If it were _anybody_ else asking him that very question, he would’ve shut them out, no doubt about it. But it was Mac, and Mac always listens to him, and held him whenever he needed it. If he was gonna hash things out about his uncle, he might as well begin with opening up about it with someone he could truly count on and trust. 

“My... my uncle, he um...”

Mac didn’t have to hear the rest, wound up just from hearing him say the words _’my uncle’_. “Oh, that _son of a bitch—“_

“Let me finish, man! I’m really really trying here, okay, and you’re not doing me any favors by getting all mad,“ Charlie interjects, putting a hand on his chest to cool him off. “Just, I dunno, drive somewhere so we can sit. I’m gonna puke again if I’m still gonna still be sitting in this car in like, five minutes.”

Mac gives in, turning forwards before he decides to take this conversation somewhere else besides his mom’s car. Charlie huffed some more glue to prepare himself during the short drive to their old elementary school playground around the corner. After parking, he hurried out over to the other side to go open Charlie’s door for him, joining their hands together. Charlie’s hands felt clammy in his, and for good reason, too. The sun was setting as they made their way over to their favorite thing to play on as children, sitting their asses on the freezing seat of the old, rusty swing set.

Charlie sits his bottle of glue down near one of the poles and kicks his feet to gain momentum. “These swings are cold as shit, dude.”

“Yeah, but I mean, this is the best I could do with a romantic setting for talking about our shitty lives. So, you go first, then I’ll share something that nobody else knows too. Got it?” 

Charlie grumbled something under his breath as he kicked the pebbles beneath his feet. 

“It doesn’t count if I can’t _hear_ you, dickwad,” Mac teased, leaning to his side to shove Charlie playfully, making the mood of their talk feel less heavy.

Charlie rolled his eyes and licked his lips, reaching for the glue to get another good high before coming clean about why he’d thrown up all over his shoes after screaming at his mother. 

“My mom promised to talk to Uncle Jack about... about something, and she fucked me over like always. It doesn’t matter. I should’ve known better, anyways,” he scoffed to himself, shaking his head back and forth. He didn’t wanna start crying again, he already had a migraine from the meltdown he’d just come out of.

Mac looks down at the gravel beneath him, chewing on his lip as he tried making sense of what Charlie had told him.

“Is that it? There’s nothing else you wanna tell me?” he tests the waters, seeing if Charlie would really delve deeper into it. 

“She’s just a fucking bitch, and I know I shouldn’t trust her. Yeah. That’s pretty much it,” he summed up, shrugging lightheartedly before he takes another full whiff of the glue, letting it melt his brain cells to pieces. 

“Charlie, can we get real for a second?”

“Hmm? Uh, sure, go ahead. Proceed.” 

Mac itched the back of his neck even though he didn’t have to, taking another moment to find the proper ways to word it right before beginning his story. “Um, I haven’t told anybody this, and I know it’s like a joke and all to the gang, but... when I was a little kid, maybe like, seven or eight or something— I kinda caught my dad in bed with some guy. It was one of those half days where we could go home sooner, and... I remember my dad promised to have a catch with me if I did my homework. But when I finished all the stuff I was supposed to do, he was like, upstairs naked in his bed with a guy he met in prison. 

“And let me tell you, that guy was fuckin’ jacked,” he laughed, going over the memory in his head with a smile while Charlie listened intently. “Um, anyway. I think I’m sorta a lot like him, in that way. Liking... liking guys, mean. I didn’t know I’d really been lying to myself all these years until I tried making out with a couple girls Freshman year. It was boring as _fuck,_ dude. And their lip gloss feels so sticky. It was awful, but... but when I kiss you, I don’t feel that way. 

“And when you were taking a shit in the bathroom today and didn’t fucking _listen_ to what I was saying,” Mac briefly pauses to send a playful glare at Charlie, who’d been staring off into space but still taking in each and every word. “I was telling you that I really want you to give me a shot. At being a, well... like being your boyfriend.”

Mac finally took the time to look up at Charlie after finishing his monologue, the skin of his lip getting torn from his teeth. 

Charlie’s little gnome face stared back at him, pausing to take another fat huff of the glue in his hand. “So... what you’re saying is, your dad is gay?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the chapter title derives from Of Mice and Men, which has a theme of ‘the impermanence of a home and the harshness of life for the most vulnerable.’ basically mirroring Charlie in this one, and I changed it to rats because it fits. enjooooy and as always let me know your thoughts:)
> 
> I promise they’re gonna actually bang soon, it’s just that the build up is so much fun
> 
> tumblr : dumbpunkass


	6. dayman

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hiiiii!!! thank you for coming back to read more, leaving any kudos or writing amazing comments, I LIVE for those, seriously!! thank you all so much.
> 
> this is all one much needed conversation between the two of them. Major TWs: charlie talks about his trauma. lots of tears. they’re boyfriends now
> 
> enjoy:)

“So... what you’re saying is, your dad is gay?”

Mac almost physically recoils, his first instincts screaming at him to just lose it and throw all patience stored for Charlie’s outstanding miscommunication skills out the window; but he _had_ to keep some of his moderation intact. None of this will come out the way he wants it to if he started yelling and ruining everything he’s built this up for. 

“No, Charlie. That is definitely, one hundred percent _not_ all I said. Was my dad’s sexuality the only goddamn thing you took from that whole thing?” he snaps, waving one of his arms around in a frustrating gesture while the other was giving the rusty chain of the swing a death-grip. 

Mac watched Charlie put the glue down and try laughing this off. Like all’s they’re doing is playing fucking Paddy Cake in the park. “It’s all I really believe, so uh, sure. Yeah, I guess that’s all I took from it.”

With one abrupt swoop off the cold seat of the swing, he moves to stand in front of Charlie and get in his face, smacking his hand after he tried picking up that stupid bottle of glue again. They needed to talk about this while they were sober, or at least somewhat as level-headed as the two boys could’ve handled. 

“What the fuck do you mean you don’t _believe_ me? All week I’ve shown you just how much I want you, dude! What the hell else is it gonna take for you to see that I’m... how pathetic I am. It’s downright _stupid_ how much I think about you, and us, and this _thing_ we’ve been doing all week! And you’re just gonna, what, fuckin’ ignore me and choose not to believe what’s staring at you right in the face? That it?” his voice gradually gets raised higher throughout his tangent, feeling weak as he watched Charlie slowly curl up into a ball on the swing, undoubtedly trying to block out Mac’s disturbing shouting. 

He doesn’t answer him for thirty-something seconds, leaving Mac completely terrified that he’s finally taken the dumb, asshole route and accidentally demolished their week-long fling. So he goes on to open his mouth and hopefully not fuck it up some more.

“Look, man. I really want you,” Mac lowers to his knees to get on Charlie’s level as the boy still absently tries twisting and turning in the kid’s swing with his hands buried in his lap. “I want this so bad. I don’t know if I even deserve someone like you, but I don’t care anymore. I need for us to be real with each other.“

Charlie balls his fists to scrub at his eyes back and forth, loathing both himself and the endless, useless tears that are slowly threatening to take up his vision again. “No, you don’t, man! Quit _saying_ that! By the time you find out all the things that are fucked up about me, see how weird and gross I am like how everybody else seems to see me, it’s gonna be too late, man. You’ll see, and... and then after ditching me you’ll probably run off into the sunset with Dennis and go bang him some place special or whatever—“

Mac slowly shook his head throughout his friend’s distressed tangent, almost laughing in hideous disbelief. “How could you think that of me? Of _me,_ Char. Through thick and thin, bro, I’ve still been right fucking here for you! And with Dennis, you gotta let that stupid imaginary thought in your head about me and him go. In case you forgot, I didn’t get hammered at a sleepover with _him_ of all people, and make a move by pulling some bullshit excuse about giving him lessons on how to kiss. Here’s a reality check for you, dipshit: I did that for _you._ God, why is this so impossible with you?”

Charlie’s pink cheeks are damp from the sudden overflow of salty, hot tears. “It’s only impossible with me because it’s impossible to _love me!_ I’m... you just, you don’t know what you’re signing up for. I fucking _promise_ you that once you see the real picture that’s been in front of your goddamn face this whole time, you’ll probably puke your guts out like I did back there, once you’ve figured out who you’ve been making out with all this time.”

Mac simply couldn’t believe his own ears as he takes a step back, squeezing his own hips with his hands. The sun has gone down and made the sky swirl with dreary clouds, dark enough for the street lamps all around them in the neighborhood to turn on. One of them flickers on and off like a strobe light, immediately irritating Charlie’s already sensitive, exhausted eyes.

“I thought I explained all this shit last Saturday, but it looks like you’re gonna have to hear it again,” Mac combs a hand through his hair, sauntering over to Charlie by the swing again, getting back down low to look him in the eye, letting him know that he means exactly what he’s telling him. “There’s so much to like about you, man. You know what happened this last Monday? I was a goddamn _mess._ I thought you’d never talk to me again. I slept on the couch we made out and almost banged on—“

Charlie interrupted him with a childish snort, rolling his eyes before looking back down at the gravel below his feet. Mac smiles when he saw how flustered it made him and decided to go the extra mile in describing all of his humility.

“Seriously, dude. And you wanna know what else I did?”

Charlie pokes his finger through one of the tears in his jeans, murmuring a little _’what?’_ under his breath, waiting. 

“You drove me so insane that night, I ended up jacking off in the bathroom during second period, I swear to God,” Mac points to the man upstairs with a laugh, watching Charlie come back to life as his usual self with that high-pitch boisterous laughter. 

“You’d have to be like, _super_ horny to do that in the school bathrooms, dude! You’re a total freak!” Charlie teased, shoving Mac away with another bashful series of giggling. 

Mac exaggerates a nod of his head, playfully pushing Charlie’s shoulder right back. For another minute all’s they do is crack up about it and they’d forgotten what had brought them here, at dark, in some kid’s school playground in the first place. Mac is the first to get a reminder once he’d recovered from their brief intermission, ultimately snapping himself back into reality.

“I’ve done some stupid shit, okay. But it’s ‘cause I really fucking enjoy myself whenever I’m around you. I think all these years I’ve just blanked on realizing any of it. So please, _please_ Charlie Boy, don’t say any of that shit about yourself, and don’t tell me you can’t feel this too. Don’t lie to me like that,” he flattens down a stray piece of hair that had gone against the grain on Charlie’s head, leaning in in slow motion so that he could get the memo on what he wanted to do. Charlie sniffled, feeling his undefeated runny nose but nevertheless leaning in too. They close the hellacious gap between their lips for the first time in what felt like days, but was realistically just a couple of hours. 

Mac doesn’t rush it or turn it into something dirty, but still manages to put all his fueled up passion into it; licking his way gently into Charlie’s mouth, swallowing up any of the stuttered sobs that try coming out of the smaller boy on the swing. To Mac’s delight, Charlie’s hand found the back of his head and pushed his face even further into his, not getting nearly enough of the bodily euphoria that comes.

“No one else makes me feel this way, not even from a kiss,” Mac whispered into his partner’s mouth, not wasting any time to duck his head down to go back in for more. 

Everything he couldn’t translate into real words, could hardly even comprehend going on inside of him gets put in his kiss. He could taste that Charlie wasn’t done crying, could feel his cold runny nose dip into his cheek. It was so perfectly Charlie to still go in for more while his nose was plugged full of snot from how hard he’d been crying through his meltdown. When Mac feels a wave of urgency to express everything he felt in that moment not only only for his friend but their potential together, his desperate fingers claw at that tacky, unwashed ski vest. As he tries unzipping it to feel his bare, warm skin with the palms of his hands, Charlie doesn’t allow them to get very far. The frozen hands of his own start to jitter as they surge to stop him from feeling up his belly in his sweatshirt, breaking the kiss for much needed oxygen. Mac looked drunk with how into it he’d been, pulling back to look at Charlie and pant like a dog. “Uh, what’s wrong, man?”

Charlie’s knee bounced quick and anxiously enough for it to likely fall right off. When he bit his lower lip, he’d almost started smiling again from finding the taste of Mac there. “I... we can’t, Mac. Not like this, not here,” he mumbled, feeling increasingly ashamed of himself while desperate to find some excuse normal people would have for refusing to take any of their layers off. “It’s just that it’s really cold out here, people could be watching—“

“Okay. Yeah, you’re totally right, but... ah, can I ask you something? And can I get an answer from you that’s _legit_ this time?” Mac asked, pulling himself back to Earth and making sure he treads as lightly as he would on thin ice. He knows he’s promised himself that he wouldn’t overstep any of his friend’s boundaries, but the elephant in the room was fucking gargantuan, and had to be addressed at some point. After an uncertain nod on Charlie’s end, he goes on with a clear of his throat. “Alright, if we’re doing this, and I’m gonna be your boyfriend and all, it’s obviously not a question that I’m gonna protect you from—“

“But you already protect me,” Charlie interjects, a sly grin spreading throughout his face, warming Mac to see that he isn’t shedding any tears anymore. He took his thumb and wiped any residue off of Charlie’s cheek, holding and caressing him for a second. 

“I know. I do, and I always will,” he agrees, his smile shy but still visible. “But I can’t protect you from stuff that I don’t know is going on. And, and if you’re ready or willing to talk about it—“

“I don’t know, man,” Charlie sighs, dread filling him up to the brim knowing where this was headed. 

Counselors, teachers, or any of the other self-righteous adults throughout his life have tried prying him with never ending questions about what the environment was like for him at home. Or if he’s getting the necessary help he needs for this and that. Charlie could still easily picture all the judgmental stares and hear all the accusations that come with having a perverted uncle living at home. He’s been silenced about the abuse too many times before to believe anything will ever really happen to fix it.

It wasn’t that Mac hadn’t already shown and proven to him that he’d always look out for him; it was that there wasn’t anything in his power he could do even if Charlie told him all the things Uncle Jack has done to him behind closed doors. Point being, Mac wasn’t the Superman he made himself out to be. If Charlie’s own mother couldn’t even be his salvation from the hands of Uncle Jack, what could a punky Irish boy like Mac do?

Mac grabs both of Charlie’s begrudging hands in his own, warming them up in his and refusing to lose the fight. “Listen, _listen_ to me, alright? If I didn’t care, I wouldn’t ask. But this has clearly been fucking you up for years, and you haven’t even invited me over in like forever—“

“Because I hate it there! My mom is the fucking Antichrist, and my uncle is just a weirdo! Mystery solved, Mac. Good job, buddy. You really cracked the case on this one—!”

“I saw him coming out of your room, Charlie.”

The boy stopped his ridiculous sarcasm, his mouth now hanging wide open as he started stuttering helplessly. “H-He just does that, he’ll like come in to check on me, and it’s not even really that big of a deal—“

Mac shushed him, combing Charlie’s hair again to soothe him from his trembling. It wasn’t because it was getting late or cold. 

“Before your mom closed the door on us, he came out, and I saw his tie was loose. I made eye contact with him, dude, and it didn’t look like he was up there to see how you were doing,” Mac murmured, thinking that somehow it’ll soften the blow if he kept his voice down. Charlie shook his head back and forth, repeating the same low murmurs to himself like a broken record, pulling away from Mac to hold his own head in his hands. “Charlie—“

“It never stops. Nothing ever makes him stop,” Charlie shriveled up, closing his eyes and feeling an unanticipated sob wreck through his chest. If Mac didn’t know any better, he’d say he was about to start dry heaving. 

“But it’s gonna be okay, see? I’m, I’m your boyfriend now. I’m gonna protect you,” Mac rambled, not taking the boy out of his grasp as he tries tilting his head to look at him. “Please, baby, just know that you’re gonna be okay. That piece of _shit_ isn’t gonna even get the chance to do that to you anymore. You’ll... you’ll sleep at my place all the time. He won’t ever get to see your face again. We’ll graduate, and you can pack all your shit up and come with me—“

“You don’t _understand!_ ” Charlie sobbed out, loud enough to startle Mac backwards, landing on his bottom with the harsh gravel underneath him. “It doesn’t matter what I do! He’s always touching me with his stupid small hands, and calling me a _girl—_ “

That wasn’t expected.

Mac double takes, furrowing his brows in anger and bewilderment as he awaits for Charlie to finish. When he finds that instead of elaborating on the fucked up things his uncle has put him through, he blinked several times as Charlie scrambled off the swing to snatch the bottle of glue off the ground. With his trembling fingers, he unscrews the cap and takes a long, loud huff and inhales the toxicity like it’s medicine. 

“What do you mean he calls you a girl?” 

Charlie stays quiet, barely enjoying the high he was riding as he goes in to take another. He wipes the running snot from his nose onto the sleeve of his sweatshirt, sweating profusely. 

“He... he calls me a girl whenever he puts his hands up my shirt. I don’t like it. He thinks I want it,” Charlie mumbles, pouting his lips and fastening both his arms protectively over his chest, as if he were re-living each and every memory he has and holding himself to stay sheltered from it. Mac covers his mouth with the palm of his hand at the thought of Charlie, helpless and confused and _innocent_ while all of this was happening to him. None of it made any sense still, but it certainly gave Mac a bigger idea of why Charlie was hurting. 

“Is—is that why you always wanna wear this all the time? So he doesn’t try anything?” Mac reluctantly asks, gesturing to Charlie’s puffy vest that was now zipped all the way up, shielding everything that his uncle liked to touch or drool over. 

Charlie hummed, nodding his head before swallowing. He could’ve thrown up again, but he’d had enough. There wasn’t anything left in his stomach to give up anyway.

Mac feels an immense, indescribable level of guilt eat him from the inside out at Charlie going through all of this right in front of his eyes, even down to when they were kids. He rubs his eyes to stop the ugly tears from spilling out, not allowing his friend to feel like he deserved any of this or was left unloveable because of it. “I... Charlie, I can’t undo any of that horrible, weird ass shit that that bitch has done to you, but I’m sorry. I really wanna do right by you, here,” he couldn’t help but grab him by the shoulders once he’d gotten the signal that it was okay, hugging him tight and rubbing his back with his delicate hands. “Want me to hold you tighter or looser?”

“Tighter, please,” Charlie choked out, reveling in the sanctuary of his _boyfriend’s_ chest. 

They sit and hold one another for a little while longer. Charlie fed off the tender adoration of Mac’s reassuring words like they were his only vice left. Once they pull away they still don’t let themselves stray too far, keeping only about a good two inches between the two of them as they wipe their faces off with their sleeves. 

“I uh, I also picked this up at your place after you dropped it when you cursed out your mom,” Mac chuckled, pulling out the journal covered in stickers and Charlie’s typical chicken scratch handwriting. 

“Shit, man. Thank you,” he graciously takes the book, pausing to snuggle his head on Mac’s shoulder. With the book sat on Charlie’s bent lap, he gets a good look at the cover and remembers giving him those same band stickers that stuck on the front. He squints as he tries to decipher what was scrawled out on the cover.

“Does that say _Chrundle?_ ” 

“Oh, um. No, dude. It obviously says my name,” he chuckles nervously, scratching the back of his head and turning the book around so that Mac couldn’t double check his lie. 

“I’m pretty sure that says Chrundle, man,” Mac grinned, ruffling his friend’s messy dark head of hair.

“Uh, I’m _pretty_ sure that I know how to spell my own name, Mac,” he further denies, ashamed of his long lasting illiteracy. 

“Man, c’mon. You don’t have to play that shit with me. We’re _boyfriends._ You can tell me anything,” he reassured, taking a moment to dig out a pencil that was in one of his pant pockets. “Here, open it up to a blank page, lemme teach you something real quick.”

Charlie needed further convincing, but eventually he’d opened up his notebook to a blank page and handed it over. 

“Alright, watch me,” he instructed, holding the book up for Charlie to watch over his shoulder as he spells something out in big letters. With three bold simple letters, he’d written the word _’CAT’_ in giant lettering, taking up the entire previously clean page. He points to what he’d written, looking over at Charlie, who’d still been huddling on his shoulder for warmth and protection. 

“There. That’s how you spell your name, bud.”

With innocent curiosity, Charlie peers over to look at the word supposedly spelling out his name. “Huh. That’s how you spell it?”

Mac nodded at him with enthusiasm, handing over the pencil. “Yup. Here, why don’tcha practice some more.”

Charlie accepted the pencil and hesitantly starts to copy what Mac had written, getting better and better at both his penmanship and his spelling as he went along. His excitement wasn’t contained by the end, happily sticking his tongue out as he focused, finding more confidence as he went along. Mac was delighted to see his tears had dried, and his posture wasn’t so stiff anymore. He’d went as far as teaching him to write _’CAT <3 MAC’_ all over his journal, too. 

“Hey, Charlie Boy?”

“Hmm?” he hums, still enthralled with the pencil in his hand. 

Mac clears his throat, the corners of his mouth lifting without his permission as he kept watching his boyfriend.

“I’m so fucking proud of you, you know. For everything. You’re a fighter, and that’s pretty badass.” 

He finally looks up, pulled out of the world of his journal and biting his lip like a tease. “Thanks, man. Couldn’t do any of it without you, though.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. My life would be an even bigger shit show than it is, if that’s possible.”

Mac chuckles, looking down at his lap for a moment, unspeakably shy over the show in his appreciation. “Fuck off, probably not.”

Charlie drops the pencil and folds his journal back up, setting it down and forgetting about it for now. “I really mean it, dude. I still wouldn’t know how to kiss without you, I wouldn’t know how to spell my _name_ without you,” he trailed off, not getting the chance to go on because of Mac’s sweet lips back on his. Charlie sighs into it, more content than he’d ever been before; even after unpacking something as huge and personal as his uncle’s frightening tendencies toward him. 

“Hey Mac?” 

“Yes, baby?” his gentle fingers trail down his jaw respectfully, easily triggering goosebumps all the way down from his touch and the new nickname.

“Um, so whenever we... we get to taking clothes off or whatever, could we do it during the day? It’s just that at night I get scared, and I don’t like it when—“

“You don’t have to explain. We’ll fool around only during the day, okay?” Mac whispers, going in for another lingering kiss because he’s never getting enough. 

Charlie can’t remember the last time he felt so safe next to someone else, finding his arms had grown a mind of their own as they trail down Mac’s back, warm and comfortable. He spots the bottle of glue still sitting on the ground right next to them and a lightbulb goes off in his head. “Wanna huff some more of this together before the party?”

Mac chuckled as he gestured for him to bring it over, sharing a good four or five whiffs of it together. With a semi-hazed, drunk laugh bellowing out of him, Mac almost falls back against the pole of the kid’s swing set as he has another realization.

“Fuck, bro! I can actually remember what I was supposed to do tonight,” Mac laughed, his stomach hurting as he did a full pull up from the ground to sit upright again. 

Charlie nearly forgot that there was a world outside of the two of them, setting the glue down probably for the best as his brain turned to fuzzy mush. “What is it, man?” 

“I promised Dennis that I’d pick up you, him and Sweet Dee to go to Potnick’s tonight!” 

Charlie laughed along with him at the idea of the Reynolds’ twins waiting on them, surely red in the face and pissed that they haven’t showed up yet. “Oh shit. You wanna go now?” 

“Yeah. Grab your journal and your glue, and get ready for a bitch fest, cause I’m at least an hour late,” Mac stands up first, holding both his hands out to aid Charlie back up on his two feet, wiping the gravel and dry dirt off the back of both their jeans. 

As Charlie tucks his dream journal under his armpit again, he held both Mac’s hand and the tube of glue as if they were his only lifeline. Both boys laughed all the way to where he’d parked Mrs. Mac’s car, on their way over to Dennis and Dee’s and blasting a _Velvet Underground_ CD with grins on their faces. Charlie knew it wasn’t gonna be easy letting out more of his secrets to Mac during their time together; but for the first time in a _long_ time, he was certain that it wouldn’t be the end of the world if he showed someone like Mac who he really was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a note - Mac still doesn’t know that Charlie is trans. 
> 
> Any comment about anything you liked or thought of whatsoever is suuuper encouraged and appreciated ! thank you:)
> 
> also I’m going on vacation for thanksgiving, so I’ll be a little slow but pls know that I’m definitely updating as soon as I can, thank you for your patience and kindness!


	7. two wounded birds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi! I’m sorry for the wait, I just have stuff going on but I’m happy to be back. Thank you all for telling me your thoughts about the story:)
> 
> major TWs: some mentions of self harm and more blood.

At a certain point during Mac and Charlie’s obnoxious ride down towards the Reynolds residence, the new and exhilarating reality they now shared together had finally seemed to sink in; practically punching a dopey-eyed Charlie square in the face with how utterly fulfilling it was. Nothing had ever been quite as natural or as satisfying as wrapping himself around Mac’s hard, inviting torso like a koala bear from the passenger’s side, simply because he’d been granted complete freedom to. 

It was almost a little unsettling that their un-platonic relationship was starting off as well it was, given that only twenty minutes ago Charlie thought he’d surely ruined the mood by opening up about how fucked his home life really was. He had partially let Mac in for the very first time, giving him just the slightest glimpse into his own stressful little world; and judging by the shit-eating grin that’s been stuck on Mac’s face since, it didn’t look like he was gonna be scared off that easily. 

To think that this was all finally happening, that Mac wasn’t fucking around with him had terrified the anxious boy about as much as it excited him, too. They were heading straight into a delicate yet fascinating stage, where things were not only full of hormone-crazed lust and enjoyment but also fairytale-like promises. In the deep, way back of what little is left of Charlie’s sizzled brain was a voice that tried ensuring him it wouldn’t be long before _something_ would chime in and dick around with their happiness. Whenever he found himself basking in the idea of a real, healthy future for a change, he’d grow this enormous, intimidating suspicion that the rug would get ripped out from under him in no time. 

He had been tricked into this web of foolish optimism before, like earlier today for instance; when his delusional mother thought that telling his uncle Jack to come up to his room earlier than usual would somehow fix their estranged relationship (and overall fucked up household). 

Even if his subconscious was right, and this _did_ fall apart once Mac saw that there really wasn’t a dick between his legs, he wasn’t about to let this moment or this feeling go to waste. It consumed all of him. 

If he wanted to play with Mac’s hair while he drove, he could just reach over and do it, no questions asked. Mac surely didn’t have any complaints about it either, writhing in the show of affection by leaning in closer while he purred like a touch-starved kitten. Charlie adored seeing this softer side of him, so giddy and helpless for anything he did. As dangerous as it was to get him this distracted while they were on the road together, he couldn’t stop. Charlie found that he didn’t mind one bit if this was the way he’d leave this world, delirious from the glue up his nose with Mac smiling by his side. Maybe he wouldn’t go to heaven, but he’d somehow find a way to make it his own once he was inevitably sent downstairs; wishing he’d get to throw rocks at trains with the one he trusts most while being a brainless, idiotic little kid again. 

What should’ve been about a twelve minute trip had somehow stretched into a twenty-five minute one, all the extra not-so-wasted time spent fucking around and not doing what they’re supposed to be doing in a car. They stole their classic, over-the-top French kisses while getting honked at, and Charlie also doodled more stick figures with hearts around their heads (which was supposed to represent them now as a couple) in his dream journal. It felt nothing short of a lovely, dumb, spontaneous adventure for the teenagers. 

When they were nearing their destination by a block or two, an imaginary alarm randomly fires off in Mac’s fried, lovesick brain for yet another way the two of them could have some more stupid fun together before the party. He slyly bites his bottom lip as he spared a side glance to the boy in the seat over, checking out his expression which seemed just as hyper as it was confused while Mac steered their car into some empty spacious lot. Knowing this wasn’t where they intended on going, Charlie looks all around them and then at Mac before chuckling.

“What kinda shit pot are you trying to stir up _now,_ dude?” Charlie asks, feigning a child like annoyance as he squints and uncrosses his legs in the reclined seat. “We’re already late as fuck—“

“Exactly, so what would it matter if we make those bitches wait a little longer?” Mac smoothly replies, carelessly spinning the wheel left and right in order to get to the starting spot he desired. The petite boy in the passenger’s side only raises his brows as he wondered what else they would be getting into next, setting both his pencil and the crumpled up journal down on the dash. He watches with a nervous intent as Mac switched the vehicle’s gears to park before he stopped for a moment to smile mischievously before carrying on. Charlie doesn’t know what to expect, but what came out of his boyfriend’s mouth wasn’t nearly as catastrophic as he’d been picturing.

“So, has that cunt you got for a mother ever let you drive her car around before?”

Charlie downright snorts, shaking his head back and forth rigorously as the tension that had been steadily growing in his shoulders had decimated all at once. He’s got a front row seat at witnessing all of the dangerous, shitty ideas in Mac’s head come to life before his eyes. “Oh, nuh-uh. No _fucking_ way, dude. You’re not making me drive the rest of the way to Dennis and Dee’s. I will crash this thing right into their shitty little mansion in a _heartbeat!_ ” he laughs through his protest, shoving at his shoulder. 

Mac pretends like it actually wounded him by rubbing his shoulder to soothe the harmless jab, also chuckling along with him through his defense as he tries reasoning with him further. “Wait! _Wait,_ okay! At least just here me out, babe—“

Charlie doesn’t want to fall for any of it, but knowing how Mac looks at him it would only be a matter of time before he gave into his wishes. Mac has this alien affect on him, something Charlie hadn’t ever felt for anyone else in his life before; having almost like a blind devotion to do anything Mac wanted him to. Just when Charlie thought he’d live with his secrets for the rest of his life, cage them up and throw away the key like he thought he’d done with his heart, Mac proves him wrong once again. It’s as fun as it is terrifying, like riding on a rollercoaster or getting behind the wheel and actually driving a car for the very first time. 

Mac turned the dial to lower their booming music, both not even attempting to hold back any of their giggling which easily could’ve sounded like a couple of schoolgirls gushing over their first kiss. “Don’t _’babe’_ me on this one, dude, it isn’t gonna work—“

Mac tosses his head back with a groan at having to sit and listen to yet another long, loud streak of denial and complaining. He wanted to egg Charlie on just a little more to be stupid and adventurous with him, and driving was a good starting point. It was his goal to knock down all of Charlie’s stubborn, tough walls. 

“But you’ll have so much fun, trust me! I’ll lead you, and I promise I’ll make sure you’re nice and comfy the whole time. We’ll play whatever _Butthole Surfers_ song that you want, even if the only decent one they have is _Pepper_ —“

“They have good shit, man! Don’t talk about my _Butthole Surfers_ like that.”

Mac shook his head with a loving grin. “Not the point. Any band with that name sucks some serious ass, but whatever, we’re gonna work on your taste later. Right now, I wanna be able to say _you_ can drive me around and shit. Doesn’t it suck to be a co-pilot all the time? C’mon, man! You’ll feel like a badass behind the wheel. I’m telling you, du- _babe,_ ” he corrects himself as he further persuaded, his giddy energy mixing with frustration at the same time. Mac watched with his signature puppy dog eyes as the wheels turn around in his boy’s head, the uphill battle starting at vague annoyance, to ambivalence, then ending at a reluctant agreement. After the long pause and a loud, exaggerated sigh, Charlie spoke up as he scratched the stray of curly strands on the side of his head.

“Man, I really fucking hate this—but it does kinda feel pretty cool sometimes, I guess...”

Mac was fast with his sheer, obnoxious hooting and hollering, unwilling to listen to the rest of that sentence as he ruffles Charlie’s head and unbuckles his seatbelt with his other hand while chanting. ”Hell yeah, bitch! That’s my Charlie Boy! C’mon, let’s get out so we can swap places. I’ll look for your _Butthole_ CD.” 

As he was busy adjusting the seat to fit a significantly smaller Charlie to scoot further in towards the steering wheel, he was much too busy with his loud overthinking as he scratched the lobe of his ear with hesitancy. He looks off through the side window at the frost growing there for a brief second, kind of like how he usually did during the chilly mornings to distract himself from whatever was going on around him. 

“Uh, wait. About that switching places thing...” he starts murmuring, mentally kicking himself in the face for his next request, unbeknownst to his partner. Mac patiently awaited for him to continue with whatever else he needed help or encouragement for. 

“What? I won’t make you go all the way to Dennis and Dee’s from here or anything. Look, I know this is kinda like another phobia you have or whatever, but I’m here, and we can get you all the practice you need when I’m around,“ Mac reassured. “No one is here to judge you for not being awesome at driving the first time you do it. These things take practice, and I just wanna... wanna let you know that I’m never gonna expect you to be perfect your first time. This is supposed to be fun,” he continued, giving Charlie a warm grin while he moved his thumb back and forth on his shoulder to soothe him. 

Charlie coughs, looking down as he silently appreciates Mac’s humbling words. “No uh, I got that, I know I’m gonna suck for a while before I actually get good, but... I dunno know if this is too weird to ask, but d’you think I could sit in your lap while I just practice steering it? Before you get all _porny_ and weird about it, ‘cause you’re such a sicko; I always forget which one is the brake and which one’s the gas. And my stupid legs are too fucking short to reach anything, and I’ve already crashed into some bushes a couple times before, and...” he goes off, feeling a silly insecurity for asking such a thing. When Charlie wasn’t feeling nearly as mortified about twenty seconds later to peak a look over at Mac for his reaction, he was somewhat surprised to find that he wasn’t judging him or weirded out in the least. In fact, he looked fucking ecstatic for the opportunity to get the nice and warm, and not to mention _exceedingly_ tiny body of his new boyfriend to sit in his lap in the drivers seat. 

“Oh, Charlie Boy, if _that’s_ all you wanted us to try then all you had to do was ask,” he teases, already so captivated by Charlie’s adorable red color that had blossomed all over his cheeks. “Now c’mere and get in my lap already, you cute piece of shit.” 

Charlie was in the midst of another sassy roll of his eyes before his face was grabbed and given a sloppy, generous smooch. He pumped his arms in the air from the excitement after pulling back, clicking the seatbelt and yanking it off to practically run over to the drivers side. Mac was smug as he seductively patted the meat of his thighs for Charlie to take a seat, thrilled to finally feel the ass he’s been ogling at all week to be sitting right on top of him. 

The boy weighed as much as he’d suspected, not even taking up the leftover room between the seat and the steering wheel he was so small. Charlie’s smile felt like it would be permanently smothered on his cheeks while he scooted back to adjust himself on Mac’s thighs. Mac tries holding his breath to somehow force his annoyingly persistent dick to stop worming its’ way around, at least for a little while. When he found that the blood pumping through his groin wasn’t going to even try to listen or cooperate, he awkwardly clears his throat while Charlie was still trying ridiculously hard to figure out how to properly turn the keys in the ignition. 

“How the fuck does any of this work? I feel like I’m bullshitting a spaceship here. Why do you always make this look easy? I want more glue, you want some too?” 

Mac couldn’t help but let out a laugh that came straight from his gut, ultimately making it much worse as the confused boy in his lap did a subtle reactive bounce of his hips. 

” _Fuck,_ Charlie, you can’t do that if you don’t wanna get me hard as a goddamn rock. This is gonna be _actual_ torture for me if you don’t stop doing that,” he threatens with an uneasy chuckle, stopping to close his eyes for a moment and enjoy another little body roll on his crotch. 

“What the hell are you talking about? I’m not even doing anything, dude. This sucks,” Charlie complains with innocence, completely in the dark of the effect his every move really had on the cushioned, hard body beneath him. 

“Goddammit,” he shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose at the boy’s impatience. “I haven’t put my foot on the brake yet, genius. We’re gonna pull this so it’s not in p— oh, for the love of _Christ_ will you stop _grinding_ on my dick like that!” 

Charlie paused and showed the whites of his cartoonishly wide eyes that had rapidly expanding. He takes the hand that had been on the wheel to cover his mouth to get a hold of his endless supply of that boyish immature laughter. “Your wang is way too needy, man. Answer me this: why are dicks like, up and weird all the time? Uh, not that I wouldn’t know or whatever. Obviously I do,” Charlie backs himself up, squeezing his eyes closed as he scolded himself for asking something so foolish.

Mac isn’t aware of what Charlie had been rambling on about, groaning once again and sounding almost like he’d gotten stabbed in the chest when Charlie scooted himself backwards. “Are you doing this shit to me on _purpose?_ Oh, you fucking tease, I am going to eat the living _shit_ out of you!” 

Everything that was miserably coming out of Mac’s mouth just makes Charlie snort a little louder each and every time. As they forget what their main objective was in the first place, Mac sighs down the back of Charlie’s head as he kept his hands respectively at his boyfriend’s dainty hips. He moans again as he feels a slight drop of something damp slowly trail on his lap, pinching his brows together once he feels it happen again.

“Dude, are you pissing on me or something? What the hell is that? If you got dirt or throw up on me again, I _swear_ —“ 

“Oh. Shit. Um, fuck, sorry I just... let’s just practice another time. I’m not really ready yet,” Charlie interrupts with unsolicited panic, scrambling to get up and off of Mac’s lap while he yanks the lever to open the door. 

Mac wants to stop him but looks down at his own lap instead, where Charlie had just been practically grinding. He squints and pushed the button for the light up above, baffled to find a few minor dots of what appeared to be blood on the front of his and Charlie’s pants. 

“Are you bleeding? Did you—did you hurt yourself again? What the hell, bro!” 

Charlie shakes his head like one of those cheesy toy bobble heads, swallowing nervously like he’s been caught guilty of doing something horrific.

“No! Well, like, I kinda hurt myself earlier by accident on... on something. I sat on something. It’s not that big of a deal. Can we just fucking go to Dennis and Dee’s now, please?” he begs, feeling drenched down below and humiliated as he pulled his sweatshirt down to cover his wet, stained jean-clad bottom, exiting entirely from the vehicle. 

Mac watched the dramatic scene unfold, feeling an extensive amount of worry for what Charlie was hiding from him this time. Maybe there was more he didn’t want to talk about, but Mac couldn’t imagine what else there could be that he wouldn’t have known about already. Unless he purposefully did this to himself, _hurt_ himself and didn’t want anybody to see or know about it. Mac feels sick to his stomach for the hundredth time that night as he imagines something as fucked up as Charlie cutting himself. With flaming urgency, he rushes out of his seat to where Charlie had stood on the concrete and opens his arms out to hold him.

“Jesus, baby, it’s _okay._ Don’t worry about it, I don’t give a fuck about the stupid blood stain. These are hand-me-down’s anyway, they were already shit by the time I got them. What I’m concerned about is _you,_ ” Mac assures, smothering Charlie with love and warmth as he wraps his stronger arms around him, palming the back of his head while petting his hair. Charlie momentarily revels in the safety net of affection, embracing how easy it is for Mac to engulf him up and shield him away from whatever tried worrying or harming him next. 

“I don’t—I’m not... I’m not ready to talk about that, Mac. But I swear, I promise I didn’t mean to ruin everything—“

Mac scoffs as he pulls away to look at Charlie directly in the eyes. “Hey. Listen to me, alright? Turn your ears on for this, you fucking goose. You haven’t _ruined_ anything, don’t be like that. Don’t you dare,” he scolds him, still playing with Charlie’s greasy wild hair. “You could never ruin anything for me, Char. For me, you’ve made everything so much better. I’ve never had this much fun with somebody, or—or felt anything this real. Don’t ever be ashamed, so you can stop burying all your shit, because I’m ready to get a fucking shovel to start digging.” 

Charlie blinks as he’s immediately overwhelmed with a number of conflicting thoughts in his head, one of them calling him a pussy for not telling him the fucking truth, which was that he’d just gotten period blood all over him; or that he’s an idiot for falling for any of Mac’s words. That once he finds out he’ll either use him only for his body or abandon him because of it.

The optimistic side always sounded silly and pathetic when listened to, but nevertheless it still tries to assure him that Mac has _already_ seen him for who he really is all this time, had seen him before he shaved his head and seemed to forget all about what he looked like when they first met. That it’s okay if Charlie needs more time to be open about the dumpster fire that is his life, and being vulnerable isn’t a sign of weakness, but a sign of incredible strength. It was terrifying, being so transparent with Mac about his past and his childhood, or about the constant need to cover the ugly fat balls that weighed down his chest, or the unimaginable damage his uncle has done to him that will stay with him for the rest of his life. Nothing about it was easy, but then again, all he’s ever known in life was this never-ending misery.

With a loud gulp, Charlie regulates his breathing once again, making up his mind on which side has won the fight this time. He harshly yanks himself away from Mac’s warm body, the cold air now beginning to crack his pale dry skin. He rubs his frozen fingers together and ignores those foolish pleading eyes that have stared and pried right into his soul this week, and the entire decade that they’ve known each other. Charlie gives in to his pessimism, folding his arms over his chest as he takes two steps back, anxiously chewing on his chapped bottom lip that Mac had kissed not very long ago. It’s far more comfortable and familiar hating himself, thinking that the world owes him for all the things it’s already stolen from him. Mac was just another fleeting body that came into his life and fed him sweet nothings. It was the only thing that made sense, because there wasn’t anything to love or desire about Charlie in the first place.

“I’m fine, okay! You think I’m some... some wounded bird that you could just tape some wings back together for in some old shoebox, like that’ll make everything dandelions and butterflies again. I’m fucked up, and... and I’ll always be. Just drop the lovey-dovey bullshit for a minute, okay!” 

Mac’s mouth could’ve caught a swarm of flies it dropped so hard as he listened to Charlie’s spiteful speech. 

“Okay, well, if you felt that way about us and about me, w-why didn’t you just say so at the park!” Mac shouts, the hurt uncontrollable as he replays Charlie’s words over again in his head before going on. “I’m _trying_ here, I’m trying _so_ hard to understand you and be patient and just be a good fucking boyfriend for you, ‘cause in case you didn’t know that that’s what you fucking deserve, you goddamn _idiot!”_ Mac spits back, raising his voice to match Charlie’s volume as he unconsciously puffs his chest further out, refusing to back down and let Charlie’s demons win the fight. 

Charlie’s eyes widen and his lip starts to wobble like a child ready to wind up for a fit. Mac tries to remain unfazed by the pitiful picture before him, looking off to the street lamp in the distance for composure. “Who else could you bleed or puke on and still have love you? Not Sweet Dee, not your crazy mother that doesn’t give a fuck about you, and certainly not that pervy uncle of yours, either!“

Charlie snaps his head to stare up at him in horror, wiping his red face before shoving his hands in his pockets. Neither of them have it in them to hold anything in anymore, the inevitable and unbearable tears flooding from Mac’s stupid eyes. 

“I... babe, Charlie Boy, that was so stupid. That—I didn’t mean any of it. I’m sorry,” he lamely murmurs under his breath. 

Charlie doesn’t look back at him, kicking the pebbles beneath his feet as he speaks up, his shaky voice sounding suspiciously and uncharacteristically quiet. 

“I’m not an idiot. I just can’t do this anymore, Mac.”

Mac’s throat makes a noise none of them knew he was capable of, waving his wobbly arms in the air as he tries keeping up with Charlie running off. “You what? What do you mean you can’t? We just started this thing we’ve been doing, and you’re already giving up? You’ve already wigged out on me twice this week! Will you please, for the love of God give me a fucking clue here, because I’m tired of this shit. I have feelings and insecurities too, you know. You aren’t the only one.” 

Charlie makes a tisk sound with his tongue, shaking his head before he began sprinting off on him again. While running away may have just been him cheating his way to get out of the argument, to get out of owning up to his truth, but it’s easier than staying and getting hurt again. 

“Where the fuck are you going? It’s freezing and it’s late, jabroni! Get in the car, we aren’t done hashing this out!” 

“I’m walking to the party, because I don’t need any of this and I don’t need _you!_ ” Charlie screamed, reaching behind his head to throw the hood of his sweatshirt over his head, fiddling with the strings to tighten it as he kept to his stubborn nature by storming off across the street. He wasn’t completely confident in the directions to Potnick’s house, but the cool air felt like a much needed refresher off of the drama and the arguing. 

Mac turns around to shout more empty curses as he karate-kicks the shit out of one of his mom’s tires, hissing as it had struck his foot harder than he’d anticipated. With the feeling of heavy dread and reluctance weighing his shoulders down, he gets back in the driver’s side and bangs his forehead on the steering wheel several times. The horn startles him out of doing it again, looking up ahead of him to find Charlie’s crumpled up dream journal and pencil still waiting on the dashboard. Mac felt like crying again just looking at it, but he couldn’t stop the automatic need to grab it and open it to the page Charlie had scribbled in on the way over. 

A wave of self-hatred and brokenness swooshes through him as the load of salty pitiful tears drip over the words _’CAT <3 MAC’_ scrawled over the page. One of Mac’s fists clench in anger at his sides as he wondered what Charlie was so insistent on hiding from him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ‘wounded bird’ is a song title from Charles & Eddie, a gooood one from the True Romance soundtrack. I think it fits perfectly with Mac and Charlie. a recommended listen !
> 
> I know it might be exhausting to read all the arguing again, but this is what happens when people don’t communicate properly in a relationship. no bueno. I think that naturally Charlie gets very scared when someone comes along and actually treats him right for a change because he’s never been treated that way before, and Mac has so much love to give him, but he just hasn’t opened up about his other personal stuff quite yet. 
> 
> thank you for reading and waiting, pretty pretty please tell me what you think and how you felt! see ya guys again soon.
> 
> **tiny hiatus from life getting to me, but I’m still very invested in keeping this going!! pls believe me:(


	8. everybody hurts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> daaamn it’s been a while!! I totally have to start off with an apology and hope that you all understand that life gets in the way sometimes for all of us, but I really am looking forward to drawing this fun story out even more. this is a FAT chapter, twice as long as they usually are (7k, Jesus) so there’s me trying to make up for all the time passed by writing as much as I can fit!!
> 
> thank you all for sticking around if you did, and as always I appreciate any thoughts whatsoever on how you felt. it may seem a little intimidating to post a comment but legit ANYTHING will make my day/week/month/life and I will smile super hard. anyways enjooooyy:)

Mac’s sunken eyes hadn’t strayed from the dark road ahead on the drive down to Dennis and Dee’s. He doesn’t allow himself to linger over any more of the sickeningly _adorable_ doodles or little misspelled messages that Charlie scrawled out in his dream journal, either. 

The long lasting insecurity that all of his sad efforts to be a people-pleaser will be for nothing; that it’s no real use trying to win Charlie over and there’s no such thing as being blessed with the romantic comedy film resolution, where they ride off on a horse into the sunset together. Erasing all of Charlie’s childhood trauma, or the effects of Mac’s childhood neglect at the top of a hat. His insides seem to always be screaming for some form of attention or validation, whether it was temporarily satisfied by a shallow compliment from Dennis, or good-hearted reassurance from Charlie; the self-doubt had sparked up and began gnawing at him a little hard than it normally did.

This marks not the first, but the _second_ fucking time Charlie’s run out on him without a reasonable explanation, leaving Mac still just as confused as he was last week about this stupid riddle he’s forced to figure out by himself. Even after everything he’s tried communicating to Charlie, that he wanted _all_ of him. The whole package. Not excluding any of the weirder, messier, or generally imperfect parts he’s so hellbent on keeping tucked away. Mac thought he put everything he had out on the table for him at the swing set of the playground, but for Charlie’s odd, eccentric brain, something must’ve gotten lost in translation.

His knuckles turned unnaturally white on the wheel from his angry, pent up confusion stirring his insides as he starts grinding his teeth together. The boy’s jaw tightened itself automatically as he dreadfully recalls the words that Charlie had thrown at him; how Mac should apparently cut the _lovey-dovey bullshit_ because it wasn’t his job to _fix_ the mountain of fuck up’s that ran his everyday life. It still baffled Mac that Charlie’s been hiding this tremendous amount of pain on his shoulders from the gang after all these years. Or how basically he’s reiterated that he’s chosen to shut Mac out, denying all the love he’s tried smothering him with this week, and go fuck off to whither in his own bodily insecurities by himself instead.

It was a painful realization, watching it crumble as quickly as it did; Mac somehow already failing their version of what a relationship would’ve been like. With the bite of rejection still stinging, his teaspoon of dignity he still obtained in himself was wasted by turning the radio on in hopes of a distraction; and what he’d been greeted by instead was R.E.M.’s _Everybody Hurts_ blasted through the car’s static-filled speakers. 

And just like that, any pretenses of his so-called _macho_ persona was olibterated. 

He doesn’t take much time to light up another smoke from his mom’s emergency pack of Marlboro’s to cope before his poor eyes start brimming with tears again, mouthing all of the words he’d memorized back in the early nineties. Clouds of nicotine was hotboxed in the quaint space of his vehicle, suffocating the tainted air going in the seventeen-year-old’s lungs, while mucus began drooling down out from his nostrils. He looked like a walking joke that nobody wanted to laugh at anymore, not even himself. 

While this may not have been the greatest headspace to be in, nor the safest level of vulnerability to display when approaching the Reynolds’ mansion, he didn’t exactly have anyone or anywhere else to go to for getting away from his problems. Looking for Charlie surely was an option, though it’s safe to assume he wouldn’t be giving Mac a warm welcome once he found him on the cold dark streets leading up to Nikki Potnick’s. Both teenage boys shared similar stubborn (and vastly immature) tendencies that didn’t really call for compromise _that_ easily after an argument. 

Another option for Mac was to fuck the entire plan, ditch the action and the drama. Head home, probably cry enough to fill a bucket in his room while he pathetically admired Arnold Schwarzenegger’s physique in that leather jacket in _Terminator;_ also cracking open some cheap foamy PBR to take the edge off. After the credits would start to roll, he’d likely jerk off so hard that his dick would get chaffed up, his spank bank split between the film and memories of what happened on the floor or the couch with Charlie. What a sucker.

He’d thought pretty long and hard (ha-ha) about the list of alternatives before going all in. 

As good as beer, Arnold’s sweet abs, and the horribly needed release had sounded, Mac still couldn’t bare the idea of being left alone with his toxic thoughts and insecurities tonight. Not after what was said on the swing set or at the parking lot.

With another harsh glare in the rear view mirror at those red-rimmed puppy dog eyes, Mac realizes it wouldn’t be entirely out of character for him to look like a lonely sick methhead knocking on Dennis and Dee’s door; especially at this hour. He doesn’t spare himself any more foul glares at the dingy reflection, combing his hair back with his fingers and trying his best to pass for presentable. He also tries forgetting how warm and soothing Charlie’s fingers felt when he did it, as opposed to Mac’s own unforgiving grip on his mop of messy locks. He flicks the cigarette he’d been keeping between his middle and pointer finger to the ground and took a deep breath, stepping out of the car to hike up towards the Reynolds’ giant piece of property. 

The broken, disheveled boy doesn’t forget to brace himself for the inevitable yelling or creative insults from the twins, taking a deep breath of the chilly air as he jammed his thumb on the button of the doorbell. His fists clenched in heavy anticipation of what’s to come. A good fifty seconds with nothing but crickets had gone by without an answer, making Mac pinch his brows with irritated impatience. 

“Dennis! Dee! C’mon, you bozos! I know I’m late, fucking open up already,” he calls out, repeatedly pressing the button of the doorbell, causing a ruckus on the other side of the door. “S’cold as fuck out here, you assholes!” he calls out again, pounding the door and the bell at the same time. Preparing himself to shout even louder than he already was, or maybe throw some rocks at their windows upstairs, he’s weirdly not expecting who it was to finally answer the door. 

It was Dennis and Dee’s cranky, bald midget of a father that rips it open and doesn’t hesitate to start yelling right in Mac’s face. 

“Jesus, kid, enough’s enough already! Will you cut this _shit_ out? I’m too goddamn old to be hearin’ your crap this late. I need my eight hours, you hear me?” Frank complains as he cleaned the fingerprints that blurred the lenses of his glasses, waving one of his sausage-fingered hands around for emphasis in the midst of his rant. His temper suspiciously reminded the boy of Charlie, mirroring how he reacted whenever he was upset or disturbed too, but Mac doesn’t want to remind himself about that anymore. Shaking his head to pull himself out of it, he blinked several times before scratching his temple to actually verbalize something.

“Uh, shit, sorry Frank. Are, are Dennis and Dee up? I was s’pposed to—ah, pick them up to go... go bowling,” he lies, gulping awkwardly while keeping his hands clasped together behind his back. Frank squints at him like he’s an idiot, not that Mac really blamed him. He tries to keep the white lie afloat by piling on some more useless information. “We started up a team together, actually: _The Friday Night Phillies,_ ‘cause we like playing every Friday night. Top of the line. And... stuff. I guess.” 

Frank just keeps staring. “What the _shit_ are you blabbering about, kid?”

Mac gives up and scrubs his palm down his face in utter exhaustion. “I don’t even know, man. Just—we were all gonna hang out. I was supposed to come like hours ago. Are they up still?” 

Frank seems to give up on listening to either of his children’s antics or Mac’s half assed excuses and waves his hand to beckon him inside, adjusting his glasses on his hairy old-man ears. “Just get in here and go see for yourself, I ain’t going up there. I saw Deandra put on some makeup a few hours ago to get ready, not that it’ll really help that mess goin’ on with her face. Just keep it down with the brown tonight, will ya?” 

Mac widens his eyes at Frank’s careless jab at his own daughter, snorting under his breath in disbelief before giving a shrug of agreement. 

“Uh, yeah. Lot going on there, with—with her face. Not too lucky with her genes,” he chuckles, regretting that he’d opened his mouth again by the look on Frank’s face. “Alright well uh, I’m gonna like... go to Dennis’ room now—if that’s cool with you,” he gestures up the long staircase, slowly backing away while he watches (and quietly judges) as Frank tightens the lounge robe he’d been wearing. 

The old man stopped what he was doing to give another harmless glare in Mac’s direction, now making his way towards his own bedroom, muttering something that sounded like _‘kid’s gotta be one of those fags’_ under his breath. Mac paused briefly to detect what his friends’ miserable father had just called him but deemed it unworthy of the effort. He sticks to rolling his eyes as he skips up the steps. 

Dennis’ room seemed to appear how it always did; posters of tan, big-titted women in bikinis plastered on his wall, the floors spotless and clear of any clutter. A gigantic mirror hung up of course to supply the boy some more of his endless vanity. The massive difference in status and upbringing was obvious between Charlie and the twins. Mac was reminded of how his boyfriend and best friend were the epitome of two people that were and have always been polar opposites. Charlie despises habits requiring neatness or order, only sticking to his own personal rituals with things like the cans of cat food he slurped up before bed for his stomach; or how he decorated the walls in his own room with doodles of his dreams or favorite animals; as opposed to Dennis’ walls consisting of posters of all his favorite vulgar looking half-naked women. 

Mac cracked his knuckles as he angrily vows to quit comparing everything and everyone to Charlie for just one goddamn minute. He now resorts to biting the inside of his cheek as he banged on Dennis’ bedroom door. 

“Piss off, Frank! I _already_ told you that I’m—“ Dennis halts himself in the middle of his bitchy shouting when instead of being greeted by his grouchy father, he finds the grungiest, most despondent looking version of Mac he’d ever seen in their several years of friendship. “Well look who the fuck decided to show up _fashionably_ late to... Jesus Christ. Okay, actually I take that right back. You look like a walking dumpy piece of shit,” he widens his eyes once he gets a closer look at his friend, flashing those spider leg eyelashes he’d been working on before darting back to his mirror to hide his collection of makeup products. 

Mac sighs like a tired dog, scratching the back of his head while he trudged towards Dennis’ bed and tries taking a seat. “Yeah well, I’m late for a reason. Lots of reasons, actually. To tell you the truth I’m not really sure if I’m ready to get into it, but—“

Dennis puts his finger up to shush him. “Ah ah ah, no. I don’t think so, pal. Ass is staying off the bed. You look like you went dumpster diving with Charlie and I am _not_ washing these sheets two days in a row,” Dennis sassed, taking another hard look at his disheveled friend as he shooed him away. “Is that _blood?_ Good God, Ronald. This is a _whole_ new low, even for you.”

Mac is quick to raise his voice with petulance laced everywhere in his tone. “No, no, nuh-uh! That’s—it’s just... oh, well yeah that is blood actually. Um. I gotta be honest on this one, I don’t have a decent excuse ready for that,” he gulps, remembering that the blood stain on the thigh of his jeans was what started and ruined it all. 

He wondered if Charlie was just as hurt as he is right now, or if he’s having the time of his life without Mac nagging him at the party. He wondered if whatever they started a few hours ago was already doomed from the start.

Dennis eyes him from the reflection in the mirror, trying with subtlety to finish some minuscule touches on the foundation he’d been applying on his forehead before Mac got here. “Have a good excuse for being this goddamn late? Or were you just being an asshole on purpose?”

“I was not _trying_ to... wait, what the hell are you doing? Is that makeup you’re putting on right now?” Mac squinted at him in bewilderment, watching while his friend harshly drops what he’s doing on the counter and turns around, defensively crossing his arms over his torso.

With a performative shrug, it starts to seem as if Dennis has had this very conversation with several people before, and dare Mac think he’d even rehearsed his reaction. “Why yes, Mac. Is there a _problem_ with me not wanting to look like a filthy, pimply mess such as yourself? I can only assume it’s a pretty alien concept for you to actually put some effort into your appearance,” he gestures to Mac’s face for living proof, tisking at the bloody, ratty jeans when he got to looking down. He finds an easy out of the subject with another jab at Mac’s presence in no time. “You’ve clearly been hanging out with Charlie _way_ too much, dude.”

That one seems to strike a nerve. As much as he just let the harsh comments slide about what he looked like right now, what made him snap was involving Charlie in their discussion. 

Mac recoils himself from him with a bitter scoff, taking two steps back as cartoon steam starts practically shooting out from his ears. “You know you don’t HAVE to be such a judgmental _cock_ all the time! Just for the record, I’m pretty fucking self conscious right now, okay, and you aren’t doing me any _favors_ like usual. I even had the option to ditch you ungrateful pricks tonight. Right now I could’ve been in the comfort of my own room, getting drunk and playing with myself while watching _Terminator_ for the thousandth time. But I came here instead, didn’t I? Sure, I’m late, but if I wasn’t then you would’ve found something else of mine to take a piss on anyways,” he goes as far as puffing his chest out in order to showcase some more of his masculinity on top of the yelling. 

Dennis just stared, somewhere in the middle of intimidated and amused in complete silence. “And stop dogging on Charlie like that. It isn’t right and you know it. Just ‘cause he’s _different_ doesn’t mean you could just...” he trails off, sighing in exhaustion after letting more than enough of his heavy feelings off his chest. “He doesn’t deserve that. He’s been dealt a shit hand in life, and I’m pretty sure that I’m all he has.”

Dennis easily sensed that his friend’s attitude stemmed from something deeper than getting fed up about their usual bickering. Mac wore his heart on his sleeve, and in Dennis’ experience it wasn’t the slightest bit difficult to read people like him. He starts to see a pattern of how sensitive Mac became whenever they talked about Charlie; between now and Monday morning after he’d vaguely told the story of their short lived sleepover that Charlie supposedly ran out on. 

Seeing the bigger, clearer picture of what was the matter with him, he thinks it’s best to cooperate by backing off and letting him take some time. Turning around again to mindlessly fiddle with a spare case of blush that sat inconspicuously on his desk, he eyes his reflection while sneaking a few glances at an eerily quiet Mac. 

“Fine. I’ll try laying off giving you and Charlie shit for once, alright. Just... just don’t talk about it.” 

Mac tilts his head up from where it was planted in the palms of his hands and raised his brows at him, as if to ask what the hell he was talking about. Dennis lets out a deep sigh before looking down at the tidy carpet of his room in shame. 

“You know, the... the makeup. Don’t tell anybody about it. My dad gives me enough shit already.”

Mac briefly widened his eyes in a moment of clarity, getting a grasp of how hard it must’ve been to share this information. He awkwardly cleared his throat while coming up with something to say back. “Yeah, okay. I won’t tell. Y’know if it makes you feel any better, he called me a fag before I came up here,” he murmured, idly looking up at the popcorn ceiling of his room. Dennis laughs pitifully at that, easily relating to the same poor treatment from Frank. “And I know Charlie isn’t like, the _healthiest_ guy on the planet, but I’m working on it with him. Got him to finally start brushing his teeth and wearing chapstick, at least.”

At the mention of Charlie again, he remembers what their original plan was for tonight. He treads lightly, knowing Mac might not react well again after asking: “Hey, where is that weird little bastard anyway? Thought we agreed that you’d be picking the whole gang up.” 

Mac snaps his head downwards, rubbing his tired puffy eyes to stop them from watering once again. The imaginary wound hadn’t healed yet, still tender and ready to burst even at the slightest mention of what had gone on.

“Well first of all, _you_ volunteered me to drive. But ah, I—I thought he’d be here too. I don’t think he wants to anymore, though. Or maybe... maybe he’s already there right now, having the time of his life and not giving two shits about where we are.”

“Ouch.”

“Look, it’s all pretty fuckin’ complicated, bro,” he chuckles, trying to keep himself from crying by letting out a laugh. Dennis noticed how bringing up Charlie again made Mac look uncomfortably vulnerable. Naturally, Dennis enjoyed pushing others’ buttons until something interesting happened, so that’s exactly what he intended to do.

Turning his ears on for the wild ride of whatever the hell was up with Mac and Charlie this week, he plays therapist while casually asking. “Yeah? And how complicated is it?” 

Mac starts to chew on his upper lip, feeling some leftover dead skin there with his teeth. Reluctant to even come near such a personal topic with _Dennis_ of all people; heartless, smartass Dennis who doesn’t care about anyone or anything unless he somehow personally benefits in the end. 

Mac doesn’t even remember how or when him and Charlie had decided together to keep this _fling_ of theirs a secret, but it didn’t feel good keeping this baggage to himself anymore. He needed to let _some_ of this burdening weight off his shoulders. If Charlie wanted to run away and stab Mac in the heart, then he should be warranted by now to fucking talk to someone about it.

“He ah, well... me and Charlie were just hanging out at my place on Saturday night, y’know, like... like usual, and—”

“Yeah, that much is obvious,” Dennis interrupts. A car crash couldn’t have pulled Dennis’ attention away from the juicy gossip. It nearly made the boy break a sweat before the start of his speech.

“No shit, bozo. I’m still telling a story here. Anyway, I start telling him how stupid it is for him to have self esteem _that_ low. He always covers, covers up his chest with his arms. He looks like, super uncomfortable with himself all the time, and I wanted to help the guy out. Here’s this cute, shy little dude that’s been laying on the couch next to me. We’re buzzed. 

I’ve made sure that he’s taken care of himself first; had a full shower, put some deodorant on, got his teeth brushed. Whole shebang, ‘cause I’m not a goddamn animal. _Not_ that Charlie is either, okay. That isn’t what I’m saying. I’m also well aware of the fact that I happen to be an above average looking guy too, who happens to give him some valuable advice, so it all kinda made sense. Things just fell into place after that,” Mac scratched his throat absentmindedly, now sporting a heavy blush in his cheeks when he finally gets to the good part. “It just felt so _right_ to finally—“

The doorknob gets twisted and yanked open. “DENNIS, you son of a _bitch!_ You stole my goddamn mascara again, didn’t you?” Sweet Dee’s unforgiving shout pierced through the middle of Mac’s storytelling as she barges in with little to no warning. Limping with her horrible posture without a back brace to help hold her up, she looked like a poster for teenage girls going through PMS. 

“Dee, you goddamn whore! I swear to God, your selfish needs and horrible timing never cease to amaze me. Terrific, let’s all just drop what we’re doing because of Sweet Dee’s _precious_ mascara!” Dennis points an accusing finger at his obnoxious twin sister while raising his voice, unintentionally humoring Mac while he did it. Dee scoffs at her brother before noticing how much entertainment the scene she caused was providing him. 

“Would you knock it off with the stupid laughing? You know you were supposed to pick us up hours ago, dickhole!” She further lashed out. Mac is hesitant in admitting how secretly grateful he was for her interruption. The nerves littering Mac’s entire demeanor were swooped away as he witnesses Sweet Dee getting hit in the cheek by her twin brother throwing the black tube of stolen mascara. 

“There. There’s your _clearly_ dollar store mascara that happens to smudge incredibly easily. Now be gone with you, you stupid smelly bird! Be _GONE!_ ”

Recovering from the blow to her cheek, she shouts some more infuriating gibberish as she bent down to pick up what had been torpedoed at her. 

“GODDAMN you sons of _bitches!_ ” she howls, trying and failing to get back up without her brace. She takes a look at the scene before her, her asshole twin and his best friend having what looked to be an odd heart-to-heart alone in his room. “What is this? What’s going on here? Why does Mac look like a human cigarette, just like his mother?” she abrasively asked aloud, squinting at her brother and their evidently fucked up friend. 

Dennis cooled Mac off with a palm to his chest after hearing the bit about his mom. “That would be none of your business, _Deandra,_ ” Dennis spat out, now massaging his own temples from the upcoming headache caused by his twin sister. 

“Oh so it’s only _your_ goddamn business then, gaylord?”

Dennis thinks if he had the slightest chance of surviving prison he would shank the piss out of his sister _knowing_ it would be so worth it. “Yes, you stupid ugly bird! It almost _was_ my business, that is until you rudely interrupted mine and my best friend’s private discussion that isn’t of any importance to you or your _disgracefully_ crooked back—“

“Dear God, would you both just shut up! You bitches aren’t accomplishing _anything_ by screaming at each other, for fuck sake,” Mac chimed in as he positions himself as a physical barrier between the two. Dennis stopped spitting at his sister only to yell at Mac to stop touching him. Dee eyed the blood stain at the front of his pants and called his crotch a used tampon. Mac rolls his exhausted eyes at each of them, still partially appreciating that at least he’d helped distract them from each other however briefly. 

“What we’re doing right now is a shit waste of precious time. It’s Friday night, you useless dopes. We could be getting fucked up, or I could be getting blown by a beautiful woman right now,” Dennis tilted his head back with soul crushing boredom as Mac and Dee frown at him with disgust. “Can we just get to the goddamn party already? Christ. What time is it, eleven?”

“Ten forty-five,” Dee sighs, crossing her arms. Dennis pouts as he mirrors his sister’s body language. 

“Guys, no one even starts driving home drunk until two in the morning at the very least. We got time, jabronis. Dee, put more makeup on, you’re hurting our eyes. And Dennis—” 

Dee scoffs in disgust. “Oh, _I’m_ hurting your eyes, is that right Mac? I’m the _ugliest_ one in the room, hm?”

“Yes,” both boys answer simultaneously, stopping for a moment to bump their fists together in giddy boyish agreement. 

“Alright, so it’s settled; Dee, makeup. Lots of it, please,” he puts his palm directly on Dee’s face as he giggles with Dennis like total douchebags. “Really, don’t be shy with it. _All_ over. You’ll be doing everyone a favor here, Dee. And Dennis, you get to wait with me in the car while we listen to some R.E.M. tracks. Kinda into them now,” he tries to grin while looking to him for confirmation, getting met with an unsure nod of Dennis’ head. Before Mac could get in action with their plan, he’s stopped with a hand to his chest.

“Uh, bro, let’s hold on for a second. We all know it is factually evident that Dee should utilize all the help she can get in the beauty department; but we could _definitely_ work on your ugly mug with some touch up’s too, my friend,” he snorts, already nitpicking at some of his noticeable flaws. 

Mac tries yanking his head back from his friend’s examination but remains unsuccessful. “C’mon, dude! It’s nothing a little foundation couldn’t solve, help brighten up those unfortunate looking eye bags,” he says, teasingly punching the bone of Mac’s shoulder with a passive aggressive smile on his face. 

Mac glared back, briefly rubbing his shoulder as if Dennis actually put a dent there. He’ll admit that as much as criticizing Dee for what she naturally looked like was easy entertainment, tonight he had to be the one that took the cake for looking and smelling the absolute worst. 

He pretends to ponder the offer as if he has a say in the matter, knowing there was no chance in hell that Dennis was taking no for an answer. “Fine. But if you make me look like a whore, this friendship is over.” 

Dennis smirks back at him, wasting no time to grab a towel and place it where Mac was going to be sitting on his clean sheets, then gathers up his collection of supplies for painting on his friend’s disgruntled face. 

-

Under a minute later he’d already started by applying cold, dewy drops of a skin-colored substance underneath the bags of his eyes. Mac was hissed at a total of nine times during the whole process; either not staying still for Dennis when specifically asked, or rapidly blinking his eye sockets with horrible timing. Dennis rolls his own eyes in aggravation, still gently trying to coat a good thick layer of mascara to his friend’s otherwise invisible eyelashes. 

Dee had begrudgingly lended her cheap mascara back, and with some extra persuasion even provided them an eyeliner pencil. Tender skin around Mac’s eyes started slowly but surely getting heavier and itchier, too. He’d erased any of Mac’s faint tear streaks from earlier, any blemishes now camouflaged by the sponge he’d dipped in foundation.

It oddly felt comforting being touched and pampered for. This makeover will likely be the only instance that Dennis will ever consider being physically careful with somebody. Though certain parts made Mac feel invaded or a bit emasculated, his efforts still shined through. Whenever Dee tried giving her twin brother some half-assed pointers or techniques for blending, she earned herself a good verbal beating and a not so friendly reminder to _‘mind her fucking business’._ She rolled her eyes at them afterwards, but nevertheless chose to stay with them in Dennis’ room.

Once Dennis declared Mac’s look to be complete, he playfully grips his shoulders to harshly get him up off the bed, turning him around to face the mirror for a dramatic reveal. Mac didn’t refrain from elbowing him in the stomach for it, but once his bitch fit was over he held his breath and opened his eyes to take a look. 

“Holy. Balls.”

Dennis smirks with a nod. “Yeah, asshole. That’s right. You’re _welcome._ ”

Mac tuned him out for the time being, going in closer to examine his own skin as if it didn’t belong to him. An honest to God grin starts to spread over his cheeks like it never left in the first place at the discovery that now it looked like the car ride over had never happened; eyes popping out prettier than what was natural for him, lips a little plumper and pinker. He had to give credit where it was due, seeing a pretty badass improvement from what he looked like showing up here. 

With Mac finishing off some tweaks for his look by greasing up his hair, Dee didn’t hold back prying the boy with nosy questions regarding Charlie’s whereabouts; trying to play it off as simple curiosity or concern. She pieced together some clues, taking in the fact that he showed up late at their door looking like emo shit, trying to confide in Dennis before she’d barged in, along with Charlie’s noticeable absence. She pretends to idly examine the chipped nail polish on her fingers as she stood by, through with hearing any of Mac’s vague answers that haven’t done anything except further her suspicion that something was in the water. 

“So what the hell is up with that boner anyway? He seemed pretty into coming along with all of us yesterday. Doesn’t seem like he’d wanna be missing out on shoving shit up his nose or huffing whatever he can get his grubby little paws on,” she thinks aloud, watching for telltale signs of Mac feeding her more bullshit. “S’there something happening between you guys, or is he just being a bogus terd again?” 

Mac, in his strange new surge of attitude and entitlement, shrugs and acts like this passing week never happened; as if Charlie wasn’t somebody who’d been a part of his life for a decade, or somebody he’d both committed to and cried over around an hour ago. “For the _millionth_ time, Dee, I don’t know okay! Probably just throwing another tantrum again. He’ll bitch out and then get over it like he always does,” he answers, looking up to Dennis for validation like a dog to its owner. “Right Den?”

Dennis nods his head in encouragement before licking his thumb and straightening out one of Mac’s bushy, out of place eyebrows, delighted that he had finally started listening to more reasonable logic. “That’s right, baby boy. Now c’mon, fetch those keys so we can go get ourselves fucked and sucked at Potnick’s. You’ve never looked better, bro. Between you and me, Charlie’s got no _idea_ what he’s missing out on.”

Mac beamed at the attention, ducking his head down as a result of Dennis pulling him down to give him a heartfelt noogie. His fingers get leftover globs of hair gel on them, making him cringe as he wipes off what he could by patting his friend’s clothed back. Dee’s eyes rolled hard enough to go cross eyed the whole time she’d softly limped behind them down the stairs. 

Dennis’ discreet, manipulative tendencies manage to slide under Mac’s radar, no doubt giving his vulnerable friend a false sense of comfort. Maybe Mac didn’t catch on, was too blind and idiotic, but Dee was more than capable of sniffing out her brother’s nasty intentions. Certainly they weren’t only about making Mac feel good about himself. His system was about control.

-

The moon was out and brightening up the otherwise dim and gloomy sky when the three highschoolers made their way out of the house towards Mac’s borrowed car. All of them were both humored and unbothered by any more of Frank’s pissy “parental” advising on not getting behind the wheel intoxicated; or threats about what’ll happen if he heard any more noise late in the night whenever they get back. Dee was forced to settle for the backseat due to Dennis demanding he get shotgun. As they reached the vehicle and got inside, Mac scurries to grab and stuff Charlie’s dream journal to the discreet compartment on his driver’s side door. Neither of the twins say anything out loud about it. But surely they noticed. 

“God, I know there’s a lotta empty calories in it for me but I _have_ to say I could go for some Taco Bell right now.” 

“Dennis, you’re probably gonna just throw it up later anyway. It’s a shit waste of our time and money, so can we please just get there already? Bill Ponderosa is probably wondering where I’ve been all night.”

Both Mac and Dennis share a glance at each other and snort. “Yeah, sure Dee. I bet all this time he’s been thinking he’ll have to cry himself to sleep tonight because he hasn’t seen you and your wobbly back on the dance floor yet.” 

Dee’s face tightened in another unspeakable fit of rage, trying to keep her composure despite how hard they make it sometimes. Instead of hurrying them any further, she set her blue stare to the passenger’s side window to quietly blow off steam. She knows it’s best for her sanity and composure if they stay the fuck out of sight. 

“Yeah, I could inhale a couple fifty-cent burritos too. I think there’s one along the way, we just gotta go the scenic route instead.”

“Oh, that’s no biggie. Hey, your mom got any smokes in here? I hope she hasn’t quit yet, I’m sorta itching for one now.”

“Fuck no, she smokes like a chimney, dude. That ain’t changing. Glove compartment, check it. Grab me one too, I like to smoke and eat burritos at the same time.”

“Cool. I’m down for it,” Dennis chuckles, pressing his thumb into the stashed up glove compartment of Mrs. Mac’s car. Without anticipating what would fall out, Dennis holds his arms out to catch what looked to be a bottle of toxic glue halfway opened and now began dripping out onto the tips of his fingers. “Aw, come on, dude! Who the _fuck_ keeps glue in their car? Your mom’s a psycho!” he complains, grimacing at the distasteful smell and texture getting all over him. 

“Oh, yeah. Sorry bro. Huffed a little bit of that today, my bad,” Mac frowned, briefly letting his eyes drift off of the road to somewhat help clean the sticky, horrid mess. “Don’t forget about the Marlboro’s, dude. I’m not kidding, I fucking need a smoke right now—“

“Jesus, Mac, could you maybe just help me out a little by being _patient?_ I’m covered in glue and used tissue!“

“Bro, use those to wipe it up and stop bitching! We’re almost there, I think I have enough change in my pocket, but Dee’s gonna have to get her own,” Mac sneaks a look behind him to gauge for Dee’s reaction, hoping she doesn’t piss on them for not buying her food.

Dee wasn’t at all invested in the mess going on, sparing a quick glance to the street in front of them.

“Mac, you stupid _moron,_ keep your retarted _Kurt Cobain_ rip-off looking face towards the road, okay!” she tries to warn, going as far as leaning in to grasp his chin in her hand to turn his eyes to what’s in front of him.

Mac directly disobeyed her by completely turning around to shove his middle finger in her face. “How about you keep your _Courtney Love_ ugly rip-off stupid face towards _this_?”

Dennis wags his head around in misery with the glue drying up in his hands and his jeans. “Jesus Christ, can you two _imbeciles_ find a different time to hash out your bullshit?”

Mac shook his head, laughing ironically before squeezing the steering wheel and turning around to give Dee a death glare once again. “No, Dennis, you know I think I’d rather let it all out now. Your sister has been a goddamn nuisance tonight and it’s about fucking _time_ somebody tell her to—“

“Uh, Mac.”

“—cut this shit out, because she’s not funny, and she’ll never be funny. She should just accept it and make some real friends because this shit is _not_ gonna fly on my watch anymore, Dennis.”

Before Dee could even begin to spit out some of the same childish vitriol right back at him, her and her twin brother’s rushed panic shrieking fill the void of the car. Mac doesn’t witness it or turn around to stomp his foot on the brake until it was nearly too late, the vehicle bouncing from the force of the abrupt halt. The previously angered boy’s mouth now could’ve caught a hoard of flies, gasping when he sees a familiar looking little body with a dark head of messy hair get the wind knocked out of him by the hood of their vehicle. It’s silent for a split second, save for the sound of their harsh breathing and the noise outside coming from the boy’s comical grunting as he toppled downward to the cemented ground like a rag doll.

Dennis is the first to have the balls to actually vocalize something, swallowing as his eyes start to water from not remembering how to blink. “Holy... shit.”

Mac’s mind is wiped of whatever he was infuriated about because of Dee, Dennis forgets all about the gooey mess in his lap, and Dee doesn’t stop herself from unleashing her fury out on him. Mac stares with a blank, the-world-is-ending look in his eyes as he takes the sharp smack on his ear from Dee. They all decided to actually get out and see if there was a dead teenage boy’s blood on their hands or smeared all over their tires. 

The poor culprit nearly squashed by his car was of course none other than Charlie, as the gang suspected. The boy was lying on his back when they each had enough courage to look. They stepped out, tip-toeing as if that would help anything, and watch in horror as the boy moaned in mild, temporary pain as he used the leftover energy in him to raise his head off the cold ground. Mac felt his heavy painted eyes start to brim with tears in fear of being the one responsible for his own boyfriend’s potentially dramatic near death experience.

“Mac? You guys?” Charlie asks, his cartoonishly high-pitch voice sounding about as unusual as it always did, almost as if he hadn’t just gotten hit by a car with the driver being his best friend.

“Hey, buddy,” Dennis greeted, joining Mac and Dee as they hunched down to the ground to get a better look at the state of their small, seemingly delicate friend. “You can follow the light, it won’t hurt you—“

“This isn’t the _time,_ Dennis!” Dee snapped, softening up as she let her eyes scrape over Charlie, checking to see if they somehow missed a bone of his that might’ve been sticking out. “Charlie, can you hear us? How many fingers am I holding up?—Do you know what day it is?”

“He never knew what day it was even _before_ Mac ran over him and his guts, Deandra,” Dennis snapped, throwing his arms around in disbelief that she would try asking such a stupid thing. 

Charlie just blinks his wide green eyes at all the faces hovering over him, somewhat invading his personal bubble. He quietly tried to figure out if he was bleeding somewhere else besides his crotch, or if he’d just landed in a small wet puddle. Mac had grabbed his hand and held tight, his typical worried housewife face still glazing him up and down with guilt. 

Mac opens his mouth to say something, _anything_ ; an apology, an honest proclamation of his love, or a dramatic speech with all of the above. Before he gets the chance to, a lighthearted _giggle_ of all things is what came out of Charlie’s incredibly kissable looking mouth. Dennis and Dee pull themselves out of their vicious verbal abuse towards one another to listen to what the boy had to say.

“Dude, is that eyeliner?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAD to throw in some comedy, definitely don’t take this too seriously and think that I’d kill Charlie off (pfffft, I’m so sure). I just thought since like 70% of my chapters have taken place in a car it’d be funny and totally realistic if they ran somebody over. cause Mac is a shitty driver and he yells too much and smokes and cries like a total lovesick bum while driving. and with the makeover I was totally picturing his look from the chemical toilet episode, super bomb and gay and emo AF. 
> 
> thank you so much for reading, I wanted to make this a long one on purpose and not make you guys wait a month for a skinny chapter so!!! let me know anything you felt during:) have a good day and I’ll try updating soon ! next one is gonna be Charlie’s point of view.
> 
> **for the record I’m STILL working on the next one and trying to take a step back to get a clear idea of what it is and not make it total dogshit, sorry for the wait :/


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